Mercenary Presents: Arcane Earth

[kerl]

As promised:

Kerl's Journal Part 4
Day 12 in Malta

I could not have predicted this. Lying in my hospital bed, I'd contemplated the perils of working for Mr Stokes but I'd never have thought of my employment with him ending in quite such a spectacular fashion. What happened immediately after was fairly unexpected to boot.

As I mentioned in my previous entry, I was getting heartily tired of the hospital and being poked by doctors. Seriously, I don't think they encounter many of my kind so they were taking the opportunity to investigate whilst they could, despite the fairly light damage I'd taken. Having heard news about Mr Stokes on the grapevine compared to the usual tight silence I collected JimLad and headed out of the building this morning. He was telling me about some odd dreams he'd been having lately, about some form of combat taking place in an ring wearing some odd costumes. That's strange in itself but organised fights have been heard of. It was when the squirrels and the Man-Bear-Pig got involved in his retelling I zoned out. I know I'm a hybrid, but I don't think a Man-Bear-Pig would ever exist. At least, I hope not- what JimLad put across seemed to be a fearsome and bizzarre being.

Anyway, I'm drifting. Despite the ongoing conversation, we arrived at Mr Stokes's office fairly early in the afternoon. I suspect everyone else must have heard that something was in the air as I could pick out the forms of the people I'd worked alongside previously dotted around outside the building. I could also pick up several shades of musk emanating from a chirpy look Riff, who began talking to me with some enthusiasm and a little too much detail about his trip to "The Old Country in Malta". For me, this only bought up a few painful memories but I wasn't about to be granted time to consider them.

All at once, I noticed another smell in the air- the sharp tang of aniseed. Now this wouldn't usually be suspicious, but it was everywhere. To a human reader, this still lacks significance but it's an old canine trick to block and muddle scents when you don't want to be followed. This meant that someone knew that canines (i.e. Riff and Myself) operated for Mr Stoke and didn't want to be followed. Not wanting to be followed meant something nefarious which meant.. Well, almost before the words "Everybody Down!" could escape my muzzle, the building detonated with an almighty crump, knocking those that had been standing outside to the floor and liberally peppering everyone with brick and plaster dust. By some minor miracle, everyone outside escaped relatively unscathed and were able to pick themselves up, staring in shock. The first to react was Lady Elizabeth, who emitted a heart-rending scream and ran to the pile of burning debris, beginning to try and dig into it, looking for her beloved uncle. Second to react were Riff and JimLad, who started a rapid conversation about the potential loot within the building. For once, the Commander was speechless and the taciturn Jakub was also fairly motionless, torn by indecision.

Noting a crowd of onlookers beginning to gather and the sound of bells and whistles rising in the distance as new spread, I moved to try and get Lady Elizabeth away, as being found at a site like this could be bad for health and possibly reputation if the police. Unfortunately, she was not to be dissuaded from her fruitless task, despite my best efforts to convince her to leave. I was beginning to contemplate using the same technique I had on the Commander (which would have saddened me, as everyone deserves time to recover from what has been lost) when the Cat made his move. His actions are probably going to puzzle me for the rest of my days, unless I should see him again. Rather then trying to merely drag her away, he instead began to choke her, to my everlasting shock. Part of me suspects this was the beginning of revenge for her mistreatment of him on the docks but I doubt I shall know as the police who'd begun to arrive at the scene of the explosion promptly dragged him off her. Whereupon, he promptly began to protest a mix of innocence, self defence or that "it was her own good, I was only trying to render he unconscious to get her away from potential harm". Whether any of the former may have worked, as the Commander, for reasons unbeknownst to me (beyond a "covering his own backside" attempt) picked this point at which to call out "That's him, he's the one you want!" before melting into the crowed. I looked around, noticing that the others that had been present for the explosion had also mostly melted away. I considered helping the Cat, but the police had acted to swiftly into loading him into a van. Anyway, they might have been told about me from their friends at the docks and getting myself dragged of wouldn't help anyone's case, so I was forced to stand down and watch from the sidelines as the van carried him away. I then took myself away, back to my digs to write this update and await further occurrence. Part of me can't believe a man like Mr Stoke's could die, he seemed like a darker version of Reynard in being almost an idea rather than a person so I shall close to base the next couple of days to see if further correspondence arrives. If not, it's time to start travelling again. I shan't say I'll miss Malta, but it definitely had its moments of colour!

Entry ends.

Out of charachter, I beleive there is a weeks gap between the explosion and our meeting at the Lawyers office. Should anyone wish to meet with my charachter during that time I would be willing to chat, it would give something to act as filler in the journal!

All the best!

P.S. To Merc1987/The voice in the sky/ Oy, You! -A few questions: Was the boat timber or iron hulled? Also, where did you want the cannons located, also in what arc? And finally, can I add a front-loading hatch in the style of the Fire Nation ships in Avatar. I just think it might be easier to load-unload compared to the traditional top-hatch where the balloon would get in the way.

[kerl]

After the hiatus, I catch up with events before it. Aren't I great?
I've also loaded some background fluff in here. Enjoy!

Kerl’s Journal
Property of Kerl, roaming member of the Starpaw Trading Clan.
Last Day at “The Flying Bess”

In my last journal entry I mentioned that my conversation with Riff had stirred up old memories of home and my time with the clan. However, I resolved no to write of the circumstances that lead me to leave home. Today’s events persuade me to revoke that idea. It is time for me to put down that day’s fateful events before I return to my homeland. Yes. Return.

I woke up this morning to a knock on the door. To his credit, the person knocking on the door only recoiled slightly from my frame filling the doorway when I opened it, half dressed as I was from sleep and still looking battered from various encounters. He quickly regained composure and handed me a letter before retreating. The letter was a summons to a legal firm, to be answered promptly. I cleaned up and headed out, curious to see what the latest event to cross my path was. When I got too the office, I was surprised to find that the waiting room was occupied by most of my former accomplices from Mr Stoke’s employ, minus the unfortunate Cat and the ever meandering priest. After a short wait, we were ushered into a small office whereupon Lady Elizabeth was informed that she was to inherit Mr Stokes’s “Business Venture”, as well as the contracts for those he had employed, which, apparently, included myself. The lawyer then left the room, allowing Lady Elizabeth to discuss the matter with us. The end result was that myself, and the rest, would stay in her employ but for a fixed wage. She also, having run up against my full negotiation skills, consented to give us the danger-money her uncle never had offered. This sounded good, until she mentioned her intended plan for the inheritance. Apparently, part of it had included an airship, the “Servant of the Sky” which she intended to take to America to continue her search for her uncles’ killer. I almost threw the contract back at her their and then, but restrained myself at the time. Thank goodness humans are poor at reading canine body language, only Riff would have seen the tension in my posture and he knows my concern for heading back that way. I decided, however, I would see the contract through. It’s the first steadily paid job I’ve had offered in a while and at least it gets me off of Malta. I’m also genuinely curious to find out who did kill Mr Stokes. The person capable of removing a creature such as him is worth uncovering, regardless of risk.

That brings events up to date. This journal began several* years ago after my departure from my clan and has charted the events in my life, whether happy or sad. As the wise gentleman said back at the beginning of the record, life can be about pain and suffering. The only way forward is to laugh, or cry and personally, I’m not so keen on crying! So I won’t cry as I recount the tale of my departure from the clan that took me in, from my perspective. As I return to the states, I wish to make my part in that fateful days events clear in writing so that, in the event of my death, someone might find this and return it to the clan.

It was a fine morning that day, up in the Rockies. My adopted cousin, Kal, my close friend Skye and I were ranging ahead of the pack, scouting for danger or opportunity, whatever came first. I often got picked for such roles, as my part-wolf heritage gave me a height and strength advantage over the coyotes of the clan, making me useful as I could handle most problems that came up. That day, however, we weren’t as on guard as we might have been, lulled into false security by the new spring season and bright weather. We were trotting along, as the young are wont to on good days, easy banter flowing between us about tricks played, trades made and various trivialities. The first thing I knew of the Wolves presence was a heavy impact on my side, knocking me off my feet. A yip and two thuds close by informed me that the same fate had befallen Kal and Skye. The potent scent of Wolf filled my muzzle. I bucked as hard as I could but only managed to roll over before the young wolf who’d attacked me pushed down again. The group appeared to be one youngster holding me, with another pinning Kal and an older Sikla* pinning Skye.

The latter growled. “So what do we have here? Some of you scavenger breed sneaking about, up to mischief, no doubt.” His nose twitched and he looked hard in my direction “And a mutt! You would dare harbour this insult to wolves?” I held my tongue. This had been a constant occurrence whilst I was still with the pack of my birth and I’d learnt answering back led to more trouble. Kal however, hadn’t learnt this. From his position on the floor he called out

“He’s not a mutt, he’s a friend. We’re only scouti-“

His sentence was cut off as the youngster holding him cuffs him, hard enough to stun him.

“Your friend doesn’t know your place, does he, mutt?” the Sikla growled out. He hasn’t learnt that mutts like you don’t belong”

Kal groaned, twisting as far as he could to try to see what was happening.
The Sikla notic
ed this. His grin went colder “Perhaps we should demonstrate to him how mutts are made?” he said, turning to leer at Skye, who he still had pinned. “She gasped, the two youngster chuckled and I saw red. Skye had been my friend since I’d arrived in the pack, close even when the other coyotes had mistrusted me. In my younger naiveté, I’d even dreamt of something more. What might have happened though was rendered invalid by the next few moments.

I kicked up, pushing my foot-claws up into the stomach of the one holding me then raking as hard as possible. He grunted, and released his pressure just far enough for me to break loose from under him and rush the Sikla. I shall never forget the look of surprise on his face before I bowled him over off of Skye and forgetting any of the arts taught to me by the clan, I went for the throat in the old fashioned way. Locking my teeth hard into his fur, I tore away a chunk of his throat, a welter of blood coming with it. He gurgled, twitched once or twice and then fell still, his life-blood coating my muzzle and the ground around. The young wolf who’d pinned me still had his jay open and tail down in shock, whilst the other, holding Kal, howled a “No” and stomped down hard on Kals’ leg, causing him to gasp in pain as the vicious blow cracked his knee the wrong way. The youngster then moved to attack, but behind me Skye had regained he feet, if shakily and was moving to support. Faced with her and the blood soaked apparition I presented without support from his injured friend, he stopped in his tracks.

“You’ll regret this, mongrel. I’m the Pack leaders son, and he’ll hear how you murdered our scout.” With that, he beckoned his friend, who had one hand clasped to his bleeding stomach to pick up one end of the dead scout whilst he held the other, lifting the body with the strength that the wolves are blessed with. I was to dazed to reply before they had retreated, and I Skye had already rushed to Kal’s aid. Coming back to myself, I moved to aid her. The leg was badly broken, and Kal was obviously in a lot of pain. Luckily for him Skye was training to be a healer, so she had a small pack of pain-killer and some bandages available. In an near silence, punctuated only by Skye’s terse instructions and Kals groans when the pain overcame the herbs, we managed to bind his leg to a branch before limping our way back to camp.
We returned to find the camp in uproar. As the Wolf scout had informed us, his pack had arrived at our clan camp whilst we’d been away, Whatever negotiations had been going on between the clan, for weapons, foodstuffs and tools had been thrown into chaos by the return of their scouts with their burden. Both sides had formed rough lines, watching the other whilst the elders argued in the centre, the two younger scouts hovering nervously in their shadows. We tried to enter quietly, but the pain got the better of Kal and he yelped, the cry cutting through the tension and bringing all eyes onto us as we struggled down the hillside. The closest wolves began to advance, growling out threats and curses. Kal and Skye’s coyote nature got the better of them, and they instantly exposed their throats whilst putting tails between their legs. I tried to face them down. This was my problem, I wasn’t going to let someone else handle it, Kal being injured on my behalf was bad enough. I think only the direct intervention of the Clan elders forced them to back down without tearing me apart on the spot. The Wolf elders took a moment longer to catch up, probably hung back hoping the issue of me would resolve itself. As it was, they now had their entire pack desiring my blood. Having caught up, they began growling at me to explain myself, which I did, as well as I could with constant interruptions and general suspicion. Skye and Kal had already slipped away, presumably so the main healer could look at Kal’s leg.

Unsurprisingly, the Wolf elders weren’t mollified by their explanation. I think the Clan elders believed me, on account of previous record and Kal’s injury but they were fairly powerless in the face of the Wolf’s fury. Therefore, they took the only option that allowed me to remain alive- Banishment. I was to leave the Clan and the Rockies and in return I would live, for the immediate future. The wolves would pass this news from pack to pack and, unfortunately, gossip and storytelling was the Coyotes nature so they would probably spread it too. As if Wolves natural hatred for CoyWolves wasn’t enough! Now they had ‘reason’ to hate me, and there weren’t that many of us to find.

I was given half an hour to collect my possessions and go. Initially, I tried to find Skye, but after several minutes searching with only a flash of her sandy pelt, I gave up. She was clearly avoiding me. All this time, one or two younger wolves and several coyotes appeared to have put aside the usually rivalry and were stalking me with curiosity, with some nudging and snickering as to the nature of my hunt. I briefly tried speaking to Kal, but he was unconscious from the treatment. Forlornly, deprived of my friends, I returned to my tent and collected a few small belonging. Amongst them, I found a note and a derringer pistol. The note explained to me that I was now to work as their trade scout. I smiled, for the first time since the incident. At least they were trying to give me a purpose, rather then just casting me adrift. The pistol was a surprise. Weapons were limited amongst most of the native people for various reasons of cost and pride. To be given one of the tribes small supply was an honour. Perhaps the tales the coyotes told wouldn’t be so bad after all. Then the time was up. Two burly wolves, each easily a foot taller and two or three times across the shoulders came up and grabbed me. Following at a respectful distance were several coyotes, presumably there to ensure I wasn’t just killed quietly. I was lead to the edge of the camp where the elders of both groups waited. Not much was said. They just formed a path leading out of the camps. I tried to keep my tail and ears up as I left the camp, but I’m sure I failed. I certainly failed in trying not to look back, revealing a final glimpse of Skye’s pale pelt amongst the other on the edge of the camp watching me go. Some were already turning back to dickering between themselves.

So there you have it. Shortly after this departure I heard the airship and found the massacre mentioned at the start of this record. I have tried to keep in touch with the Clan since then, sending documents and information of the world beyond the mountains. I don’t know if they’ve tried to reply. I’ve been somewhat mobile since then. Somewhere out there is a heap of mail with my name on it. At least, I hope there is. It would be rather sad to thing they had forgotten me.

With the new ship to provision, this shall probably be busy for the foreseeable future. It’ll be interesting to back in the state. To my surprise, I’m looking forward to this. I finally get to do what I was trained to do again- travel and trade in the true Coyote fashion.

*I’ll see how long Transitions ends up being! I enjoy writing, what can I say!
** For those not familiar with Wolf terminology*** Sikla=Scout. Usually the lowest ranked, most twitchy pack member they are still valued for sharp senses that allow them to act as scouts and sentries.
***Borrowed, as with the Kerl name, from David Clement-Davis’s book The Sight.

Tune in sometime soon for:
Cooked Coywolf!
Inapropiate use of airships!
Your nicked!
F***ing Dragon!
Gunnery Practice!
Asta La Vista!
Jakub being Badass!

[Dudeicuf]

When/ will this start this up again?