Stormhold

[Rausaro]

The day was a glorious, warm springday, but the splendor of the blue sky was lost on the slaves chained inside of the cold, grey fortress. Known to some as Stormkeep, this fortress had been erected in the last 20 years, a crowning achievement of Obsidious Bane’s might. But to others, it was known by unspeakable names, a place of horror.

Surrounded by thick basalt hills and bluffs, the fort was nearly impregnable. Supplied by a fresh stream carrying melted snow, and a day’s journey from the nearest cove, it offers a commanding view of the area. On the outskirts of the thick Basalt walls lay the granite slave pens and the primary barracks, a series of lesser structures that ringed the half circle of the fort and acted as a protective barrier. Finally, the outmost ring was made of a series of wooden walls and structures, in which about half of the Darkfire horde and some of the slaves resided.

None of this mattered, however, to the pair of slaves working hard to fish the nearby river. Overseen by a fairly bored officer and his two followers, the pair of otters, a male and female, sought to catch as much foodstuff as possible. The Male’s eyes roved over the murky water he had just churned at the bottom of the river; he was rewarded with the site of a large crayfish nestled in a chunk of rotting wood. He rapidly surface, deposited the morsel in the large wooden tub, and quickly dived again, throwing a quick glance at his friend, Tala. She had been even luckier than him, snagging a small but juicy grayling. The Otter suddenly gave a yelp as he felt the stinging blow of an otterleather whip rake a fresh, bloody wound across his shoulder. In fear, he dived down again, feeling his heart race. Captain Surlo would probably force him in the water for fun if a pike or any other predators caught a taste of his blood in the water. In a desperate attempt to hold off his panic, he filled his mind with the first thing that he could think of at the moment: his past.

Born to the Riverpaw clan at the mouth of the mouth of Mossflower River, Rausaro, or Rau, as he preferred to be called, had had a wonderful life as a dibbun. But after corsairs had captured him and scattered or killed the rest of his clan, everything had gone downhill. True, he had escaped about 6 months worth of captivity, and had tasted freedom… but he had been quickly captured by the Darkfire horde. Now, he was a slave, a fisherbeast, for his new masters. “Still, at least I’m alive. If you can call this…living”

An hour past, and after catching a several large handfuls of water shrimp and a small trout, he felt the unmistakable tug on his chain signaling that he should surface. “Time to ‘ead back. It’s getting dark." The weasel captain shifted on a numb leg. "An' don’t you even think o’ snatching any o’ Lord Bane’s vittles." Pulling himself on his belly up the bank, Rausaro turned to help Tala, but froze when he saw the look on her face. With Rau’s back blocking the guard’s view, Tala subtlety motioned to the rapidly darkening waters of the ford. In the twilight, the otter felt his heart nearly stop when he saw a pair of dark green pike dorsal fins break the water surface. “By Lutra’s Grave...” The guards couldn't hear it over their heated conversation about the quality of their food, but the otter heard the telltale sign the pike's frenzied feeding.

The Journey back to Stromkeep wasn’t long, but it was painful. Both of the exhausted otters were required to carry the buckets filled with fresh water and prey. Any slacking resulted in a painful whip to the back. Any spilled water resulting from the inevitable flinching resulted in a second or third lash, and that was if the guards were in a good mood. Finally, though, they reached the entrance of the hold, where they were directed to bring their loads to the nearest barracks. A few minutes later, they were thrown back into the collective pen for slave foragers.

Slumping in front of the meager fire, the otter tried to drawn warm back into his damp, soggy body. He barely stirred as Tala curled up next to him. “Yous was lucky this time, Rau.” Dropping her voice to conspiratorial whisper, she moved closer. "If I hadn't raked that trout on m’ way out, yew’d be pike vittle’s b’ now.” Rau playfully nudged her. “An’ if you ‘ad caught it, mahaps they’d ‘ave left us som’ vittles.” He shuddered. “I’d much rather’ be alive, though. Thanks.” He looked down, and realized that she was already passed out from the exertions of the day. Her once lithe form was fairly haggard from the poor feed they had been receiving lately, and Rau shape was much the same Good thing Surlo, didn’t see it, though. Tala would be dead if that crazy ferret had known she wasted a fish, especially if it was to help another slave. While the Darkfire Horde valued their large quantity of slaves, they weren't too picky about making examples. The whip that the Weasel Captain Surlo had used earlier was made from the hide of the last poor beast who had irked his wrath. With a sigh, Rausaro hunkered down, wrapping what was left of his grey tunic around him to keep warm. As he looked across the pen to the small uncovered section, he noticed the bright moon, seemingly a beacon in the dark... so free of bonds. If only we could be so lucky as those sea otters....

Word had leaked out that a pair of Otters had managed to skirt a patrol; and, possibly, that several guards had been slain. The otter had overheard several of the guards talking about Obsidious Bane's heated reaction to the news. While the Guards had tried to spread rumors of the escapee's demise, the increased security and doubled watches seemed to indicate the opposite.

As the Warm spring evening carried on, more of the foraging crews returned... While the young river otter appreciated the presence of more of his kind, he tended to keep to himself. Most of the creatures had been slaves for over 15 years, broken by the constant beatings. Rausaro wasn't one of them, and evidently there were others that were like him. He shifted uncomfortably. How would they react if they knew my past? Years of abuses and hardship had loosened the normally strong bonds that the otters traditionally had for their kind. The Otter was not going to risk finding out.

"Still no sign of that crazed sea otter". One of the older members of the particular compound arranged himself comfortably in the dust on the opposite end of the fire, ignoring the pair of young otters across from him. "Yew'd 'ave thought they'd 'at least would've brought back 'is head." This sparked a small debate, which ranged from stories of past bothed escape attempts, but it eventually tapered off into silence, indicative of the general poor morale of the group....

To be continued...

***
OOC: Well, here's the first post, and my attempt to flesh out the realities of life under the Darkfire horde, but from a different perspective than "Northward". Feel free to join in!

[Rausaro]

The night passed quietly, with some of the elders staying up to discuss the poor quality of the food; gruel with the occasional scraps of food mixed in; if they were lucky, they got pieces of fishhead. Lately, however, the quality had dropped. Rau listened in for a short while, but rapidly grew bored hearing about the trivial matters of slavery.

His thoughts shifted to the other slaves; while the vast majority of the captives were otters caught 20 to 15 years ago when Obsidious had stormed the coastal settlements, pockets of other species had been periodically snagged by the tyrant. A handful of carefully chained moles were forced to mine the quarries; with their superior senses underground, they had a wide variety of uses for the drivers. Several Dozen Squirrels had also been captured, but they typically served inside the inner two compounds, where they wouldn't be able to easily scale the wooden walls of the slave compounds. The otters, on the other hand, were generally used for common labor, or in Rau's case, fishing. It wasn't the worst possible job for a slave, but then again, hunting for dwindling numbers of fish in a pike infested river wasn't exactly his life goal.

He shuddered. The air had a fell mood to it....

His gaze shifted to the sleeping Tala as he continued to reminisce. Unlike Rau, she had been captured by the slavers when she was still a newborn kit. While some of the creatures that had been living most of their life in slavery had given up on the hope of freedom, she remained convinced of the possibility of a better life. When news had leaked that some slaves had escaped, and even managed to kill some guards, she was ecstatic... He personally wished her could share her optimism, but he had seen how deadly vermin hordes could be in action, especially when those scum had murdered or enslaved his family. And now that a few slaves had escaped, Obsidious likely had increased the watch, if the horde Captains hadn't already done so in an attempt to save their own hide.

A warm, humid breeze slowly picked up, deeping the otter's restlessness. A storm, but this late in the season?

***
The Early morning was an utter nightmare for the slaves. While the horde comfortably slept in Granite, Basalt, and Wood structures, the slaves were forced to make do with leaky cover and a muddy slavepit.

[Rausaro]

The poor weather was definitely a downer for the slaves, many of whom had hoped for a balmy late spring. The last winter had been bitterly cold, and many of the older slaves had perished, with their usefulness to the Darkfire horde expended. It had been a very dark winter, indeed.

"KLANG"

Rausaro was abruptly brought out of his reminicing by the distant sound of the inspection bell, a bit muffled by the rain. Every day, all of the creatures in each compound were required to attend a headcount. Today would likely be no different, though it was more important. The captain of this particular section hated being forced to check up on the slaves during foul weather.. and he was likely to take his anger out on the slaves, who's existence required him to preform this duty.

Rau quickly shook Tala awake. "Wot's th' 'urry?" She sat up, and yawned, stretching her light brown arms. "'S'not feedin' time, eh?" She sobered up quickly, however, when she saw the expression on her friend's face. "I'm afraid not, mate." Rau gestured towards the gate. "Ye' know th' drill".

In moments, all of the otters were lined up, despite the heavy rain. As expected, Captain Surlo and several of his soldiers entered the compound at their leisure, pausing under an awning long enough to make the slaves feel uncomfortable before starting a headcount. While inspections were not anything new, the increased frequency of the headcounts was suspicious to some, like Tala. A few weeks ago, she had told Rau of some dark rumors she had heard while stationed in another pen.

Rausaro stiffened as the Captain passed. The otter well remembered the humiliations he had suffered under the Weasel... if he had a chance of survival, he wouldn't hesitate to kill Surlo. But who am I kidding... there's nowhere to run and too many guards...

It was at this moment that the weasel's eye caught the otter's, and Rau quickly looked down, hoping beyond hopes that the Weasel had missed his look. He hadn't...

[Rausaro]

The otter stiffly stood as the Weasel Captain paused to examine him. With a lightning motion, he punched Rausaro in the gut, leaving him withering in excruciating pain in the cold mud. "Pff, slave scum". He spat on the otter. "Anyone else fancy joinin' 'im?" A few of the otter slaves nervously shuffled, but no one made any effort to help;even in his pain, Rau was somewhat thankful for that. A bit of mud was preferable to seeing the heads of his friends on a pike or some other worse fate... and the Darkfire horde wasn't above that.

The Weasel captain stepped on the helpless otter's back, and painfully ground his head deeper into the mud, clearly enjoying the excuse to exercise his power. A few moments later, convinced that the otter was not going to offer resistance, he moved on down the line, muttering. With a clenched jaw, his victim felt his insides burn with pain and hatred. "Some want Obsidious's head, and others his ol' pet snake.... But Surlo is MINE".

A few minutes later, one of the black and red clothed guards blew his whistle, and Surlo, finished with his counting, headed back for the relative comfort of his dry barracks. before he left, he made sure to stomp on the downed Rausaro, completely stunning the otter as he tried to push himself up.

A pair of eyes unseen by the guards in the huddle of otterslaves, however, glittered with malicious intent.

As the heavy wooden gate closed, the weasel heard a slight sound, and as he turned around, he managed to catch a mudball right between the eyes. The lanky weasel merely froze, and turned to his bewildered aid as he wincingly wiped the muddy filth from his eyes. "Double work, and no food for a week." With that, he turned back to the barracks, considering what special treatment he had in store for that particular group of slaves; he wasn't about to let another batch of slaves even think of defying him, not after the punishments the captain of the inner court slaves got for the escape of those two sea otters...

****
Tala smirked in memory of the face of Mud Surlo wore... While she might be reckless, she her aim was true. She turned to where her friend was lying in the mud, unconscious, and the smile dropped from her face. With a frustrated sigh, she hurried over to Rausaro, and pulled his face out of the mud. Good, you're not seriously hurt, She thought. "But still....

Bright lights flashed in Rausaro's mind as he lay prone on his belly, splayed in the mud. Slowly, he came to, feeling himself being dragged backwards, probably towards the small shelter. When the otter wearily opened his eyes, he found himself looking into the inquisitive eyes of Tala.

[Rausaro]

"Tala". Opening his eyes wearily, the otter groggily wiped the muck from his face as his friend watched, and turned his head and spat out a mouthful of blood and gravel. "Thanks". He muttered weakly. "I'd rather not drown n' mud."

With a pained expression, he sat up, and set his back against the wooden wall, gingerly probing the bruises on his back from the vermin Captain's armored boots. Tala shifted, concerned. "Yew were lucky ag'in today, mate. E' could 'ave easily killed ye' for givin' 'lip, or watever yew was doin'. Yew need t' be more careful." Rausaro nodded wearily, and closed his eyes. "I 'ear yew. It's just, not much I can do a' th' time. E' was in one of his mood again..."

But there will be a time, soon, he thought. I'm a freebeast, not some warlord's slave. I've escaped Corsairs, I'll escape this bloody horde. But where to? Obsidious has some of the best trackers, I hear. Even those slaves that escaped a while back might not have made it to...wherever. If only word could get out to the Green Isle, or somewhere... He pushed the thoughts aside when he noticed his friend pacing.

"What's wrong..?" He asked. "It's s'not like I'm dead or anything..." It was a bit odd to see her concerned, when she usually was a carefree, reckless creature. She shrugged, and muttered. " Ye' almost died, an' you're one o' th' last o' th' onesI know. S'all".


***

That noon, the pair of otters were summoned for their usual fishing duties. As they left the impressive triple layered fortress behind, Rausaro couldn't help but remember the freedom that he had once had wandering the open and beautiful landscape of Mossflower. What a far cry from his often confined life here... and on the Corsair ships. How he wished he had been able to find a new home and holt, and perhaps settled down with a mate. Deep down, he knew it was unlikely that he would ever have that chance, but still...

As they walked, guided by an unfamiliar captain, he quietly enjoyed the tranquil peace of the forest, uninterrupted only by the occasional curse from one of his guards as they stumbled on a nettle or were bitten by bugs. Ahead of him, he watched as Tala gracefully strode with her guards, despite the chain she wore. His mind wandered back several years, remembering that despite his relatively short time as a captive, she hadn't shunned him like some of the older creatures had done. While her constant, some would say obsessive, desire for small vengeance had concerned him, he had grown very fond of his friend. So far, she was the only one that he was convinced wouldn't betray his recent planning.

His concentration was abruptly broken as he realized they weren't heading toward the river, but the sea. A quick glance at Tala made it clear that she was just as surprised as he was by the apparent change in plans. With a painful blow from a whip, they both spun towards the end of the woods, where the golden sunbleached fields of dry grass and sand awaited...

[Talia]

The evergreen forest, how dark and quiet it is; pine needles littered the forest floor along with some nice, rich dirt. The cimmerian woods were pleasant and the soil was so soft due to the humid environment. Few twigs littered the ground because of the flexible branches of the pines and created a soft floor that is great for long travels. Little rocks are seen, and the trees grow lush because of the phenomenal climate and soil. Though because of the dense canopies, stellar light radiated off the tree-tops. Being the somewhat lucky squirrel that Talia is, the sunlight or moonlight did not penetrate the thick blanket of needles. Darkness was the best way for Deathstripe to camouflage, her thin, dark pelt morphing into the shadows. No pine in particular is where the black, ginger specked squirrel stayed. Talia was a traveler, a survivor, a warrior, and even a planner. She almost always had an agenda, though it mainly consisted of preparing and forming ideas for her bold move that she hoped to put in motion soon. The only thing that dragged Deathstripe’s attention away from her plans and preparing was the flick of a whip and/or the screech of anger and pain from both the hale beast and the decrepit. These were the slave parts and the river located deep in this forest proved to be a regular fishing region for the poor, poor beasts.

It was a special day for Talia Deathstripe, the day were she would join the slave party. ‘Twas her plan to learn from the inside out and the squirrel needed to raise the hope of those trapped creatures-though from what she saw over the past few weeks, they were in no condition to fight back. What would she do? Well, that was her to figure out. She hid her home-made weapons well, equipping herself with a couple wooden daggers, charred at the end to provide a nearly indestructible spike. Grabbing one in each hand, she set off without her belt and most cherished items.

She awoke at dawn, making it near the river to await the arrival of the slave fishing party. The black squirrel always spied on the beasts as they traveled passed, her blue orbs taking in every piece of body language from each creature-some of pain, sadness, fear, or anger. There were many more emotions, but her main focus was that of the guards and slave-drivers. What weaponry did they have? And armor? The vermin were normally equipped with a single wooden stick each, sharpened on one end by a dagger or sword. Though as time passed, Talia knew something was different, in a bad way. She took off carefully through the trees, managing to listen for voices as well as speed nimbly and skillfully through the rather flimsy branches. Coming to the edge of the forest, the black squirrel peeked through the closest tree to the ocean, surveying the sun-bronzed hills as they slowly formed into the sandy shore. The ocean was a distance from her tree; its waves could be heard as they plummeted down towards the bleached grains of sand.

“BOOM, CRASH, SPLASH!!!”

The ocean is so open and large. Who could stand it? It was so giant in both depth and length; so perilous and bleak. Talia felt as though her marrow would crumble in her disappointment of the unknown. That is what the bally body of water was-unknown. Oh sure, someone can steer a chunk of wood this way and that, but what was beneath that surface? Dangers, just dangers were hiding beneath the waves. Though what dangers? If she knew, she could prepare-though no one knew. If it were up to Deathstripe, she would face a horde of vermin before walking more than waist deep in the water-only if ‘twas to save a life would she enter the murky liquid along the shore-line.

The black squirrel observed the scene in front of her. At a distance, she noticed a few specks headed towards the ocean and nothing coming from the slave camp out yonder in the other direction. Her poor vision in her left eye only made her right eye one of her sharper senses. With a squint and a sigh, she hauled off towards the beasts who she assumed were the slaves and their forced masters.

[I’ll leave it there so you can maybe post some more information about what is going on, then I can introduce Talia to Rau and Tala…(: It isn't the best post I have done, but It was almost 2:00am when I started writing it-I finished at 3:04am!!! I have to dip out now and catch some sleep. See you later!]

[Rausaro]

As they neared the ends of the woods, Rausaro noticed the relative silence. Normally, the sound of summer katydids and other insects droned incessantly. His thoughts were interrupted, however, as the largest of the three guards, a brown Weasel, shoved him. "Keep movin'!", the guard snarled. "If'n I were you, I wouldn't press yer luck. One of yew really got the Captain in a bad mood... and I wouldn't be surprised if 'e makes another whip out of your worthless hides!"

In the top corner of his vision, the otter thought he saw a shadowy blur silently from the shadows... But he held his silence.

The Otter shuddered. It wasn't common, but rumors of "Painted ones" still passed among the slaves... creatures that hid in the trees and preyed upon the unsuspecting. Maybe I'm just seeing things, but I don't like it...

A few minutes later, the small party cleared the last tress of the forest, coming out into to the open, sunny fields that stretched out for a mile or two, where they terminated in the River's Estuary and mudflats. Off in the distance, they could see the sails of several of Obsidious Bane's Corsair ships, but thankfully, their path didn't take them towards the large cove that housed the crew. It had been a long time since Rausaro had been under the corsairs, and he wasn't keen on meeting up with them. Partly because he wasn't sure what he would do to them for wiping out his clan and family. The scum. As the firm soil gave way to sand and mud, the otter curiously looked about, seeking out the objective for the day's trip. What do they want me to harvest? Ghost Shrimp?!

***

"So, that's wot' they wanted". Tala made a show of tightening the knots on a bag of Scallops as they floated in the surf, giving the two creatures an excuse to idle for a few minutes. The distant guards couldn't really tell what they were doing, and none of them were willing to swim into the otter's playground. Unfortunately, the special metal they used for the chains was rust resistant and quite strong; previous attempts to escape from it by smashing it with rocks underwater had proven futile. Tala had nearly drowned a season back when the chain had become snagged in sunken branches and rocks in the river during the last attempt.

With a nod to his friend, he dove underneath again, seeking out the colorful, though raw, morsels. Here, out of the prying eyes of the guards, they could easily eat their fill of the fatty shellfish and still get enough for Obsidious Bane's meal. Off to his right, he could see her sleek form as she gracefully glided across the bottom of the sandy sea floor. He turned his attention to the large volcanic rock rising from the ocean floor; like the other local rocks, it was jet black, likely made of Basalt.... as he drew closer, however, he also saw some odd reflections coming off a few of the pieces. As he willed his body through the water closer to the odd rocks, he realized it was a small outcrop of obsidian.


To be continued...

[Rausaro]

The Otter quickly brushed off the small outcrop of algae and other sea life that encrusted segments of it. Unfortunately, there wasn't anything he could use to break the stone, especially underwater. As he rose to the surface to catch a fresh breath, his mind wandered back to his lessons his holt had taught the young ones about the value of the rare glass.

***

At the surface, Tala carefully took inventory of their catch. In the several hours they'd been forced to hunt, they had managed to eat their fill, as well as gather juuuust enough to satisfy their guards. Hah, why waste such good vittles on Obsidious's scum, She thought to herself. HA! If only Obsidious would catch the blight. Off to her side, she saw a stream of bubbles as her friend resurfaced for a breath. The look in his eyes caught her attention, however...

**

On the shore, Wiltup the weasel guard was watching the two otters from afar... With a quick tug, he was able to tell that the lines were still taught. He glanced over at his two fellow companions, who continued to sleep the late noon away. With a grunt, he kicked sand over his comrades. "Sun's 'eading down. Time t' get back, or Surlo will 'ave our 'ides....

[Rausaro]

"Look". Rausaro waved a small piece of black rock in front of the female otter's face.
"Tis a rock. Oh, how interesting," her voiced dripped with sarcasm. "Wot's so interesting 'bout that?" With a swift motion, Rausaro easily sliced the tip of his finger with the rock. "'S'not just any rock. It's Fire Glass." He made a slashing motion across his neck. "An' it could be our way out o' 'ere. All we need t' do....GACK" His explanation was cut short as he was dragged underwater by his chain

***
On the beach, both otters slumped onto the sand, exhausted by hours of constant swimming. As they lay panting from their exertions on the sand, one of the vermin guards pawed through their catch. "Hmph, it will 'ave t' do. Took yew otters long enuf'. Up on yer' feet". THWACK. With a powerful blow from the whip, both otters wearily jumped to their feet and did their best to maintain a quick pace for the horde members while carrying the heavy bags. Behind his back, Rausaro could feel the warmth of the sun on his bloody back, and it front, he had a clear site of Tala's fresh stripes. When will this end? He thought.

In the distance, the cool shade of the Evergreens beckoned to the slaves...



*Awaiting Talia*

[Rausaro]

Rau and Tala found themselves forcibly marched, once again, through the dense evergreen forest that bordered Stormhold. In the deepening twilight, the shadows of the dense trees gave birth to an eerie realm of darkness. The thick, hot air and the absolute silence of the forest didn't help to ease their nerves either. The three guards stumbled along through the woods cursing, oblivious to the odd events around them. Rausaro shuddered. He could't help but feel as if the creature from before was still watching them....or perhaps something else.



***

Above and behind the backs of the five creatures, bright amber eyes watched their departure from the safety of a high bough.

[Rausaro]

As the warm darkness of the summer night fell over the land, five creatures reached the foreboding gates of Fort Stormhold. With a shout from a gatekeeper, the large iron gates slowly creaked aside like a hungry maw of an predator, welcoming the exhausted slaves and their guards in it's evil embrace. As they stepped through the gates, Rausaro paused, and looked behind him at the mysterious dark pine forest the loomed in the distance. A sudden blow from a guard brought his thoughts back to the present, but there was....some strange about the woods. And who or what was that thing following us?

The next few minutes saw Tala and Rausaro walking past the various slave pens, backed by the thick wooden walls. Each pen held several dozen slaves each, and there were roughly twelve pens in all in the outer section of the fortress. Over one of the Guard barracks, the thick stone walls of the two inner sections could be seen. While Rausaro hadn't personally been in there, he had heard rumors from some of the older slaves that a variety of beasts lived in there, ranging from captive mice and squirrels to some of Obsidious Bane's highest ranking hordebeasts. Up ahead, in the farthest corner from the main gate, the otter spied his pen; it was illuminated by the glare of a single torch. He shuddered. It had been four, maybe five years since he had been imprisoned in the poor conditions of the pen.

***
With a uncerimonious push, the otter fell onto his knees in the mud. Next to him, Tala grunted as she recieved a parting blow from one of her captives, no doubt a warning against putting up anymore resistance against the horde. The gate loudly slammed shut behind them as the vermin headed back to their longhouses to get drunk on mead and eat the hard work of the slaves. Through a crack in the gate, he could see his guards carrying off the scallop meat to the inner court, where the Rat Warlord lived.

"Pah!" The otter spit into the mud, glaring at the backs of the guards. With no further thought, he turned around and helped pull Tala to her feet, and walked her over to the meager shelter, where a few others otters had already taken up. The lack of meals they had suffered through because of the stunt of some otter slave was clear on the gaunt faces of the already undernourished slaves, and a few seemed to have a strange look in their eyes. Deep down, Rausaro felt guilty for stuffing himself on Scallops, but there had been no way to hide the foods from the prying eyes of the guards. Speaking o' that....

The otter pulled a large piece of sharp obsidian from the pouch on his belt. None of the guards had thought to check the slaves on their way in. Idiots, but heh, I'm not complaining. Before they had been pulled in, he had managed to dive back under and smash a rock on the material. Apparently, he had sucessfully hit the cleavage of the rock, because a piece of the sharp material had fragmented off. He glanced at the reflection of the torchlight in the glossy black glass, and marveled at nature's beauty. Realizing two of the nearby otters were staring at him, he quickly stowed it away and moved over to check on Tala. Their eyes continued to follow his path...

***

The female otter was lying on her stomach in the dirt, grimicing in pain as one of the older otters did her best to clean the grime and sand out of the bloody red whipmarks on her back. She had suffered the worst beating, and he cringed to think of the pain the saltwater had inflicted on her that day. The fact that she had been swimming without compliant was very impressive, but he could see that her whole back was badly bruised and swollen purple beneath her light brown fur. Her golden sunburst Tattoo marking her clan was barely visible on her shoulder underneath all of the blood. Rau respectfully averted his gaze, but before he moved off, he gently gave her paw a comforting squeeze. He himself was fairly numb to the pain of life, but the sight of his closest friend suffering ached inside him to the very core of his being.

With a sigh, he carelessly slumped on his chest in the dirt, anxious to avoid getting his own wounds infected by the filth in the compound or the wood splinters in the wall. As he lay in the dirt, utterly drained by his exertions, he turned his head to the side to look at the beautiful stars in the sky, seemingly mocking the filthy, haggard slave.

Oh Rhulain, let you children free.... He quietly thought, remembering the tales of one of otterkind's greatest heros.... Anybody...someone....help us! The stars, however, provided no answer, but merely continued to twinkle peacefully in the onyx darkness like jewel pinpoints.

It was a peaceful night. But it was not to last.

[Rausaro]

As the moon rose, Rausaro fell into a restless sleep. Around him, the sounds of life in the pen, and the fort in general, quieted to a whisper, with only the breeze, a few snoring slaves, and the occasional flare up of a torch to break the silence. Despite this, he continued to feel....uneasy. Like he was being watched. He woke with a cold sweat, cautiously glancing around at the compound he was in. Tala slept a few feet away, still feverish and shivering from the wounds. He sighed. I'll get us away from here one day, Tala... I promise. He glanced at the still rising moon, visible from under the little cover the slaves had. Pulling out his piece of black glass, he examined it against the bright yellow backdrop of the moon If only I had some more obsidian or something for weapons... we could but who am I kidding. Glass against steel and iron? If only we knew of someone who could match these vermin. But who would fight such a large horde, so out of the way of most goodbeasts?

His contemplation was cut short, however, when he found himself uncerimouniously grabbed from behind. A thick, black bag was thrust over his head, muffling the cry of shock that escaped his lips. A heavy blow left him limp and stunned, and vaguely he felt his body being hauled away by the strong grip of metal gauntlets. He thought he heard other....

***
The otter was forcibly awaken from his spot on the floor by a brutal kick to the face. Terrified, he tried to make sense of the direction of the blow, but the black bag obscured his vision, and his paw were bound behind his back. Once more, he was hit, this time drawing blood from his mouth. He suddenly felt the bag ripped from his head, and felt himself being lifted by the throat, where the startled otter found himself looking into the malicious eyes of Captain Surlo. "Well well, Rausaro Riverscum, you finally did get my attention." The Weasel grinned. "And I can't say I haven't been 'oping fer this day...."

[Rausaro]

The Weasel threw the otter back down onto the floor, and continued to pace, smirking. "So, you think yew could try and cause trouble in your pen, eh? Stir up a little trouble against Lord Obsidious? Ha! You really think we don't know what you're doing at all times?"

And who agreed to spy for them? Rausaro wondered. Not that it matters now.

"You killed one of my hunters when we first found yew. Orders were orders; we made ye' a slave, an' we brought ye' back 'ere. Then yew started meetin' up with that other otter, Tala Sunback or summat, so we 'eard. Tools 'ave been broken, items 'ave gone missing... And now ye have a glass edge?"

Things missing?

The Weasel paused and drew the small fragment out. Gingerly, he pricked his finger on the sharp edge to demonstrate his point before casually tossing the fragment onto the ground, where he crushed it under his metal boot. "You've pushed yer luck too far, otter. I'm gonna 'ave fun with this." A sadistic grin spread across the weasel's face.

Rausaro felt his stomache drop as the weasel grabbed him by his throat. There was no doubt... his time was up. Things suddenly seemed to space out as the implications hit him. Despite his tied paws, the otter snarled and lunged at the vermin, ready to rend his very throat with his teeth. A moment too slow; a blow from behind knocked the wind painfully out of the otter. A second blow ended his worrying. Defeated, the otter slumped into an unconscious pile, bleeding profusely from his nose and jaw.

The Horde Captain Captain cracked a rare smile, and turned to his subordinates. "Whip him, Bind him, and throw 'im t' the pike tomorrow morn'."

[Rausaro]

Darkness. That was all that filled the otter's mind as he stirred from an unconscious netherworld. Hanging from his wrists in the guard barracks, it had been hours since he had been bagged, beaten, and prepared for what he could only assume would be a messy departure. Small rivulets of blood streamed down the wounds on his back, collecting in a puddle around his footpaws on the cold, polished stone floor.

The otter groaned in discomfort as he shifted his weight, feeling the numbing pain rapidly fade as blood flowed into his limbs again. If there was one benefit to all of this, it was that the pain cleared some of the haze from his mind. Where am I now? He thought. How long have I been out? He rubbed his badly bruised cheek against his shoulder and winced, remembering the painful blow before the darkness claimed him. His thoughts moved back to the rubbish claims the horde Captain had made against him.
While the possesion of sharp objects was a sure fire way to get executed, it was a bit odd that Surlo had mentioned other issues that he, Rausaro, had no part in. Is Surlo scared about something? He couldn't help but feel that he was merely being used as the Captain's plaything. Still, if I'm going to die, I might as well try to fight back. After all, what do I have to lose? A miserable existence? An already dead family? He closed his eyes. Tala.

***
A few hours later, the otter found himself once again roused from his stupor, and felt himself being dragged across the hard floor. Without a pause, he was flung face first into the gravel. If that didn't wake him, the sheer shock of being hit with a Cat o' Ninetails did. With a painful cry, he shuddered into wakefulness.
Satisfied that his prisoner was alive and squirming, the weasel and his crew continued to drag the otter toward the gate, making sure to pass in view of his former pen. Rausaro turned his head to the side wearily, trying to see if he spotted anyone he knew, but the sharp rocks and gravel cutting into his knees made it impossible to focus. As the gates passed overhead, he wearily realized that it was finally over... and that freedom would probably only come in death. Time seemed to drag on. Ahead, he could hear the chuckling of the river, and the otter had a sinking suspicion what his fate would be....

***
Dragged through the half grass, half mud at the top of the river bank, the otter felt as if a iron vice had gripped his gut. Ignorant of midges, he watched the horde members throw a few buckets of fish slime and blood into the water. Chum. The otter wasn't sure if any of the river predators, such as the Greylings or Pike, would gather in the same manner sharks had. The flash of thought brought back memories of happier days, when Shellback had....

Iron gauntlets of a vermin clamped like a vice around his neck, shattering his bittersweet memories. With a chuckle, Surlo strolled over andspun him around. "Well, this will be a' spot 'o fun, eh, boys?" The weasels and rats behind him nervously nodded. The Weasel wasn't as" cruel to his horde members...but it never went well for those that dared disagree. "Hmm... It's been awhile...where to begin?" He pulled out his sword, glancing back at his underlings. "I wonder where I'll shall I start first?"

Sensing immediate death, the otter did the only sane thing he could. With a snarl, he whipped his long neck back and flung his head forward, biting deep into the weasel's meaty arm. Gripping the muscles with his razor sharp teeth, he tore his head to the left. With a roar of blind agony, the weasel flailed, smashing the otter in the face with his good arm. The Vermin gripped his profusely bleeding arm as the otter stumbled backwards onto his back. With a desperate struggle, the otter did his best to worm his way to the nearby edge with his bound hands and feet. But he was too slow. Right as he toppled over the edge, he felt a searing strike across his chest. With a resounding crash the otter hit the surface of the river, feeling wind leave his lungs. Before the river pulled him under, he saw the captain holding a bloody blade in his left hand.... and then the river enveloped his vision.

***

On the bank, Surlo grimaced at he watched the otter's body sinking. A quick glance at his right arm showed a bloody mess. Surprising you put up a fight this late. He thought. With a meaningful glance, the other vermin with him immeditately shut up and prepared to head out. A final glance at the river showed only a rapidly dissapating trail of blood... the only sign of the otter. Hah, survive that.

[Rausaro]

Pain. As the otter sunk deeper into the river,his mind struggled to focus on anything other than the cutting pain in his chest. Whatever had hit him had sliced into his chest, and he had no way of knowing how deep or fatal it might be, only that it hurt like nothing else.

He blinked. He couldn't see anything in the bloody murk, and the twilight compounded the issue. Air. Frantically, the otter realized that he hadn't taken a good breath before he had gone under, and he struggled to surface. With his limbs tangled in bindings, it was difficult to move. With the last of his strength, the otter surfaced using an old otter technique, but his muscles nearly revolted at the pain.

Rausaro ground his teeth in pain as he moved towards the steep bank of the river... but with his paws strung behind him and the river swollen from the recent storm, there was no way to get out.

[Rausaro]

The unseasonably violent storm continued on throughout the night, swelling the river into a nightmarish flow of mud and debris. The injured otter lying against some debris started, coughing out water as he groggily tried to get his bearings.

It wasn't exactly clear where he was, but from what he could feel, he was snagged on something hard and pointy; probably a tree branch. As he tried to shift, he felt the heavy weight of the water pinning him to the trunk. As the otter struggled, he lost his balance and was rapidly pulled under the tree. Greatly exhausted, and with hands bound, Rausaro was forced to put all of his effort into keeping his head above water as the river swept him away.

***

"Where am I?" The otter blearily opened his eyes to the bright sunshine on a sandy beach, and stiffly turned his head to look at the seabirds wheeling above his prone form. With a grunt, he tried to shift, but groaned with the pain. A tentative glance at his chest showed a muddy, sand and salt encrusted gash. At least it wasn't fatal The Otter dryly thought. But what is this place? It didn't look familiar... The river clearly washed him out, but to where? Was it north of the Stormhold jetty? South? How near? Rausaro tried to prop himself up to a sitting postion to get a better look at his surrounds. Unfortunately, he also discovered that his hands were still bound. He wearily looked at a distant rock cropping further down the beach, and begun to painfully move his way towards it as an idea popped into his head.

***
An hour later, he carefully rubbed life back into his chapped wrists. It hadn't been too hard to find a jagged rock outcropping to break his bonds on, but it had taken longer and been more uncomfortable than he had hoped. Still, he was free of that, and it counted for something. Still....Where to go? With a sigh, he turned towards the south. Few happy memories he might have, but the ones he remembered most fondly lay in the south. Home

OOC: A bit of tweaking will be needed, but not at 12 am @.@

[Tracy]

She'd been prepared for blustery days and frigid nights. As far north as they were headed, she was even prepared for some snow flurries, even this early in the season. What she hadn't expected was an absolute deluge. The only solace she could take in the torrential rain from the night before was, as unprepared as she was, she still handled the weather significantly better than the other members of her ragtag patrol. There was just no substitute for her level of travel experience.

Traveling with her initial group from the mountain hadn't been as awful as she'd led herself to believe it would be, but once they joined up with a handful more patrollers at the bank of the River Moss, the journey had become downright intolerable for the scout. Even the few times they were making something more efficient than a snail's pace, the company was excruciating. The group was full of far too many alpha personalities, hers included. She'd been finding more and more excuses to scout away from the others, traveling further and further away, and being gone for longer stretches of time. No one fought her much on it.

Sometime before dawn, she was up, collecting her things, and looking with some disappointment at their pitifully waterlogged camp. It would probably take hours before everybeast was ready to be on the move again, and she was already much too antsy to wait. Telling one of the officers who'd taken the night's last watch she was scouting ahead, she scurried off, ignoring the look of disapproval that she was leaving the others to clean up the mess the storm had made of their camp.

~~~~~

"What is it with you otters lately and washin' up on shore?" intoned a somewhat exasperated-sounding female voice. Sitting up on the rock piling was a young haremaid, feet rested up against the stones with her arms hooked around her knees. She hadn't necessarily been hiding, but had kept mum while she observed the harried otter. "I thought you lot could swim."

What might seem like a small, cheeky little maid of a hare was quickly belied by her athletic figure and the rapier that sat easily on her hip. She sat there, unassuming; calm and dispassionate even in the presence of this creature who looked like he had been through quite a lot of late.

Although she remained still and placid, her violet eyes studied him carefully. She'd made light of the otter's situation out loud, but she didn't think for a second that his presence in this area and his condition, similar to the otter back with her patrol, were merely coincidence. His injuries, while exacerbated by whatever toll the storm had taken on him, were inflicted by others.

The snowy-furred hare made no immediate movement toward the otter. Given his current condition, it would be no real challenge for her to take the creature if he turned violent, but she didn't really think it was necessary to incite his ire if she didn't need to. The last otter they found had been a little less than keen on their assistance, so she wasn't quite sure what to expect from this one.

"I can help you."

[Rausaro]

What is it with you otters lately and washin' up on shore?" The ragged otter, who had just painstakenly removed his wrist bonds, froze in shock. Another creature? How had he missed them?

The voice, clearly female, spoke again with a hint of irony. "I thought you lot could swim." Rau spun, searching for his unexpected visitor. There! A Haremaid? Shifting, the otter stood up to get a better look at his new guest, who happened to be sitting on the rock formation above him. While she appeared to be armed with some sort of light blade, she wasn't wearing a Stormhold uniform or tunic. Promising. In fact, the design and the embroidered insignia were wholly unfamiliar to him.

Rausaro clutched his bleeding chest as he stood still, trying to consider his options as his mind raced. There was the slight possibility that she could be a tracker working for Obsidious or one of his ilk, but he had never heard of hares in the horde. If she had meant harm, she could have struck him down at any time. As it was, she continued to sit comfortably in her postion without making a move.

"I can help you," She offered from her relaxed position.

With a sigh, the otter nodded. I don't have much of a choice anyway, he thought to himself. Carefully, he made a short bow. “I’m goin’ to ‘ave to take yew up on that offer. An’ as fer th' last thing, didn't yew 'ear? The otter shook his head and smirked. "We gave up swimmin' last "Ullaballo. Thought we'd try bein' ragworms." He smiled weakly, before a puzzled expression crossed his face with a sudden realization. “But wait…Wot’ do ye’ mean, “Yew otters? You've seen others out 'ere?"

Had the rumors about the inner compound been true?

[Tracy]

The haremaid was silent as the otter sized her up. She wondered what he was gleaning from her appearance, if anything. Definitely not as much as she was gathering from watching him. The more she studied him, the more injuries she saw, and the less concern she had of him turning violent on her. Frankly, she was surprised he was even standing at this point.

When he accepted her help, she unhooked her arms from about her knees and hopped lightly onto the damp, hard-packed sand below. "I don't have much on me; I'll have to get ya back to my crew. I can at least patch you up an' stop the bleeding. Sit down." The otter had a deal of height on the small haremaid, and she needed to bring him down to a more manageable level. "It'd be swell if you stay conscious for me though. I'm not lugging you anywhere." Her tone wasn't as cold as her words, always with a hint of teasing underscoring her words.

"We gave up swimmin' last "Ullaballo. Thought we'd try bein' ragworms."

She smiled a touch at that. Whatever trials this otter had been through at least had not wholly severed his sense of humor. That was good. They would get along much better if he could take her jokes in stride. Sliding her bag off her shoulders, she knelt to open it, rummaging through her supplies. The otter was lucky she had even this pack on her. Were she traveling alone, she would be carrying around even less.

Pulling out some cloth and bandages, her black-tipped ears twitched when the otter spoke again. "But wait. Wot do ye' mean, Yew otters? You've seen others out 'ere?" Ripley made a small face. This creature was being a mite too perceptive for a beast who looked nearly on death's doorstep.

"Otters, what other otters?" she asked quickly, pretending to misunderstand. "I think you're seeing things."

She used the salt water to dampen the cloth. It would hurt, but would be the best option for cleaning the chest wound. "I'm going to patch this up for you," she went on, changing the subject. She wasn't about to go into the story about Tam washing up at Salamandastron. That was for later, when she had her other Long Patrollers about. "Is there another injury I should need t'see to right away? My companions will have more supplies to help you."

[Rausaro]

"I don't have much on me; I'll have to get ya back to my crew. I can at least patch you up an' stop the bleeding. Sit down."

Rausaro complied, gingerly seating himself on one of the many sun bleached logs that lined the beach. The Haremaid spoke again.

"It'd be swell if you stay conscious for me though. I'm not lugging you anywhere."

He could believe that. But even more so, the mere fact that they were still on the beach left a clammy feeling in the pit of the otter’s stomach. Glancing up and down the beach, he sincerely hoped that no vermin ships were near.

***
The next few minutes saw them banter as his new ally collected some supplies out of her pack. When he asked about the “Others” that she had mentioned washing up on the beach, she had quickly deflected his question. Odd.

"Is there another injury I should need t'see to right away? My companions will have more supplies to help you."

The otter shook his head. "The rest of me is well enough t’ walk. Th’ sooner we get out o’ these parts, the better."

As he apprehensively watched, she pulled some cloth out of her pack, and dipped it in a nearby pool of salt water, and then used it to clean his laceration. He gripped the log tightly as she cleared the sand out of his chest, and he bit his lip in agony. At the very least, he comforted himself with the fact that infection was less likely with the water.

Trying to take his mind off the pain, he glanced down, but quickly looked away. It was always odd how wounds felt worse when you looked at them. Within a few minutes, the worst of the muck had been cleaned out, and the hare had bandaged as much as she could. The otter unsteadily stood, and inspected the beach one last time, as the late afternoon fog began to roll in.

“Thankee fer’ yer’ ‘elp. But we need t’ get off this beach. I don’t like th’ feel o’ this place. Which way t’ yer friends?” He paused, realizing he hadn’t asked the hare for her name. “And, who are you, might I ask?”