Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.'

[Vengerak]

 "What ghosts walk these hallowed hills,
Where once their cries of battle reigned?
Who are these smoky misty forms that,
By their blood this ground was stained?

They come shaking in triumph their long grey hair,
Once more out of the sea to run shouting by the shore.
My heart, have you no wisdom thus to despair?
My love, my love, why have you left me alone?

The vanquished have returned."

~*~

The old tavern sat quiet under a heavy blanket of snow, the wild winds whistling forlornly through a cracked window pane. A guttered torch flickered unhappily inside as creatures huddled about shadowed tables, discussing their business in muted tones over cheap drink. Its oaken door swung open, and a few beasts saw a face through the smoke and crowd as a creature long-absent entered hesitantly, but it was not familiar to them. It was a young face, not a month over twenty, but age was writ large in its features.  

The pine marten rubbed his paws together vigorously, looking cold and tired.  Armour that once gleamed with gilt work & silver chasing hung dulled and lacklustre off his stocky frame, dirtied golden tassels swinging limp and unenthusiatic in the draft he had let in with him.  The piercing gaze, however, was not dulled in the least.  It shone in twinkling, quick flashes from eyes cautiously lidded, bright and quite startlingly blue.  The keen orbs strayed over the sea of strange faces, searching for a familiar sign, a bandaged paw brushing aside the flowing scarlet cloak, feeling for the hilt of an old blade, neatly-pointed claws tracing the runes inscribed there.  Here, of all places, there must surely have remained a few of the old guard.

Pausing to shake the snow from his mottled fur, the strapping young marten started forward, offering a weary, apologetic smile to a table of glaring beasts that had been on the wrong end of a facefull of moisture. Snatching a mug of ale from a dozing adjutant of theirs, he took a swig, wiping foam from his lips with the back of his paw before plunging on through the crowd, the Imperial crest concealed under the well-worn cloak teasing the eye as an occasional flash of gold after the odd step and not a backwards glance offered to the quietly fuming table.

And then he saw her, perched upon a barstool with a familiar evening dress pooling at her feet, the fierce young southern princess he had not clapped eyes on for more than four seasons.  Only now did he falter slightly, a hesitant paw stretching out to tap her gingerly on the shoulder.

"Milady," he said at last, giving the weasel a rueful smile as she turned her head suddenly, eyes wide with surprise. "It's me."

[The Lady Shael]

 (OOC: Yay for role-playing!)

---------------
She turned around completely to face him, eyes still wide and her mouth opening slightly in shock and surprise. "Raine?" she asked tentatively. "It's really you?" He seemed to have changed so much in four seasons. He was older, and he looked more like the weary commander and conquerer than ever. But she looked up into his sharp blue eyes, and she knew he hadn't changed much, if at all, on the inside.

"Of course it's you," she muttered, feeling foolish. She stood up. "But you're finally back! It's been so lonely around here lately...come on, let's sit by the fireplace so you can warm up a bit." The young weasel, now the more mature age of 17, grabbed his paw and dragged him towards the fireplace, and pushed him into one of the squashy couches, disregarding or oblivious to any discomfort he possibly had from his armor.

She sat forward on one of the armchairs next to him. "Not many of the fellow warlords we knew still linger here. I can't do anything about it, of course, I'm supposed to stay here at headquarters and help Retto manage the place. It's very boring, especially when everyone's out. I have no one to talk to- well, I pass Retto sometimes in the hallway, but he doesn't make interesting conversation, and I see Wolf a lot, but he's usually busy." She stopped, realizing she had been babbling on. "But how are you, anyway?" she asked suddenly. "Where have you been all this time? And have you met up with anyone we knew while you were out?"

[Vengerak]

 "T'ward his heart the arrowhead crushed;
Down from his breast the red stream gushed,
And from his face all glory rushed.

A sudden spasm did shake his frame,
And in his ears there went and came
A sound as of devouring flame.

His chapter ended and so turned the page,
Wounds held at bay by impotent rage,
An Emp'ror bound in an iron cage."

~*~

He was led by the paw to the fireside as one in a  trance, his cuirass creaking in objection as he sank into the couch but discomfort failing to register properly in his brain.  He sat with his weary head cocked slightly, Shael's words washing over him half-heard, two and two failing, for the most part, to find one another as he tried to make sense of them.  None of it seemed real, as yet.

After a heartbeat he realised she had stopped talking, blinking once and then shifting his posture, feeling a little foolish.

"My soldiers have fallen in among Deathclaw's lot..." he murmured a little absently, before mustering a smile as warm as he could manage and heaving a sigh.  "I was...taken.  When the lords of the western plains came to drive us out at the end of the age."  He paused, a paw straying unconciously to his breast, suddenly withdrawing as his claws tapped upon his breastplate and he remembered himself.  He squared his shoulders and settled back into the chair a bit more, his voice now taking on a cheery, non-chalant tone.

"Their great deeds came to naught though, eh?  All the southlands are crawling with the same murderous rabble.  The warlords are back. I'm back."  The blue eyes were cast down, then, and he lowered his voice.  "My father dosen't suffer failures gladly."

Another sigh came, something seeming to go out of him with this one. He looked up at Shael, and the reality of the situation sank in a little. He was back.

"And what of you, milady?" he asked, the old grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I'm afraid you'll have to fill in the blanks for me."  

[Kilkenne]

 The door was thrust open once more...

*The ferret stepped in, brushing snow off his armoured shoulders as he stamped it out of his footpaws on the mat. The tavern was nearly entirely empty as he took the helm from his head, tucking it under one arm and striding toward the voice he knew from his past.*

"Their great deeds came to naught though, eh? All the southlands are crawling with the same murderous rabble. The warlords are back. I'm back. My father dosen't suffer failures gladly."

*As he laughed to himself, the door slammed shut behind him. With the two's attention now on him, he grinned nonchalantly, abruptly ending any chance for Shael to begin to answer Raine's question yet.*

"The same murderous rabble you say? No, Raine, although you are correct in thinking that there is no order in the south, they are not all the same. The Marauders have been re-established in the South. While we maintain a grip on the North, the South is where the action is, and where we will remain. But what of this talk of your father? Surely he has less influence than you, family or not, because you are back from your...exile I presume, you must stand up for what is yours."

*Kilkenne spoke matter-of-factually, setting his headgear on a side table and taking a seat in a large, firm armchair, he gazed upon the two, wary not to sit next to Shael as he did not know how Raine would react to more recent "happenings".*

[Deathclaw]

 Deathclaw hastened to the tavern. A scout, formerly under Raine's command, spotted the old commander and reported this to Deathclaw.

Quickly, Deathclaw gathered together a party of twenty-five soldiers to accompany him to the tavern. Not knowing what he would see, Deathclaw opened the door, stepped inside, and looked for the old ally.  

[windhound]

 A figgure sat in the corner of the tavern.  Its head covered by a black hood which covered all but the tip of a moist black nose that rested on the worn table.  A steady breath was coming from the nose as the figure's body gently rose and fell.  The peacefulness was rudely shattered by a blast of cold air which brought the figure to an aburpt wakefulness.  The figure pawed his bow and reached for an arrow, but relaxed when he saw it was only a young to mid-aged pinemarten.  His bright orange tail waved gently from side to side as the new arrival moved through the building.  

As the figure became emersed in conversation with one of the other vermin windhound lowered his nose back down to the table, pulled the black hood back over his eyes and tried to resume his nap.  It had been such a good nap too.  Sadly, another wintery blast hit him full n the face, lifting the hood from his eyes.  He looked up and saw Kilk enter and begin a conversation with the marten.  windhound yawned.  clearly this marten was somone of importance, and he would be sure to learn more..  right after another nap..  

"-dern- it" he shouted after the door was once more opened and the cold rushed in to greet his already freezing nose and ear tips.  He rolled his eyes as he saw Deathclaw march in.  Clearly this was going to be some party.  windhound sighed bitterly just then, as he had noticed that the most recent intrusion had taken out his candle's flame.  He grabbed the smoking candle and  got up with the idea of relighting his candle from the fire, where the stranger, a lady vermin, Kilk and most recently Deathclaw were sitting.


(-.-  word filters)

[RazorClaw]

 A dark and gloomy day resounded across the gray sky of the Northlands. Not a bird sang, nor a cricket shirped. All that coud be heard was the silky voice of a weasel, giving orders to a ferret, which he repeated at a magnified volume.
  "About face! Down in push-up position! Down! Down! Down!"
   At each "down" the horde did a pushup. This went on for a few minutes. RazorClaw, the weasel, sat, bored. The ferret, Drury, snapped to attention.
   "Sir! Troops have finished drilling, sir! Do you need anything?"
   RazorClaw thought about things. He was bored, and Drury was almost as good of a commander as he, though not his equal in combat.
   "I shall leave you in charge. I will be gone for around two seasons, and if a season goes by without you getting a letter from me, start searching, and avenge me if I die. I'll go select a team to go with me."
______________________________________________________________________________________

He surveyed his team. Greenpaw, a stoat strongman, his namesake for the green patch of fur on his paw. He wielded a battle axe that most badgers would have a hard time lifting. Shadeye, a fox archer. Black fur, gold eyes, black cloak, and an ebony bow with black diamond-tipped arrows. Felix, a callous wildcat, wiry but strong. His golden fur shone like a light. He was an expert swordsman, finding it to be an art. He only displayed emotion to the other wildcat in the group, Simone. She was an albino wildcat, who used a set of ten lances, all black-diamond tipped as well. She could throw them as a long range weapon or use them at close range. She found them to be versatile and powerful. Then, Ravage. A spy. He used poisoned daggers, and has a dull brown coat, which made excellent camoflauge. He was the smartest of the team.
  RazorClaw nodded in satisfaction. The best of his army, here before him, ready to go.
  "Okay. Let's set off."
_______________________________________________________________________________________

They had traveled for a season before that day. They had spotted the tavern a day off. They changed into fresh clothes, silk finery with hidden armor, and readied themselves for some rest.
  When they arrived at the tavern, Ravage tapped RazorClaw's shoulder.
  "Sir," he said, rather nervous, "sixteen seasons is a tad young to be drinking the type of things they have at this place. Perhaps-"
  "I'll be fine, Ravage. I'm only getting some October Ale."
  Ravage nodded, satisfied. The commander was reasonable, whether he was young and strongheaded or not. RazorClaw opened the door, and walked in. As he and his team walked up to the dusty bar, sat down, and started drinking, two creatures, a pine marten and a weasel, were conversing. they looked strangely farmiliar...
   

[Vengerak]

"Is the whelp suitably dressed and gorged?"

"Aye, Warmaster."

"Then permit him to crawl into my presence."

So was the commander of the Sovereign Guard exploratory armed forces brought forth, pallid from weeks of virtual imprisonment, before the canopied throne of Terranix Valthurak, Warmaster of Rhaken Kull, mightiest lord in an empire of mighty lords.? He sat under the great burnished dome of the chamber atop the throne before which the world trembled--gold-panelled, pearl-inlaid, an emperor's wealth in gems sewn into the silken canopy from which depended a string of shimmering pearls ending in a frieze of emeralds which hung like a halo of glory above the Warmaster's head.? The attire of the marten himself was all black silks and satins, the finest gold threading the intricate pattern of its trimming; silver was the mail which could be glimpsed shifting beneath it.? About the Warmaster's throne were arrayed the nine viziers of the ailing emperor in attitudes of humility, and his praetorians ranged the dais, crimson plumes nodding above gilded helmets.

The younger marten was suitably impressed--the more so as he had had nine weary weeks for reflection in the grim citadel of Skalthrax, carved from the barren slopes of the burning mountain.? Raine choked down his choler and cloaked his resentment in a semblance of submission--a strange cloak on the shoulders of the high lord of the Conquerors' League, commander of a crack legion of the Imperial Guard and one-time Emperor of Mossflower Country and Beyond.? His head bristled incongrously from the simple robes presented him by the contemptuous Warmaster as he was brought before the throne, arms gripped fast by cheerless warriors of the Order of the Black Dragon.? The Warmaster regarded his former favourite with scant pride. Under his lord's piercing gaze Raine bent his head to hide the sullen rage in his eyes.? At a scornful wave of his agitator's claws a liveried handmaiden came forward and bestowed upon the young general a small leather pouch containing two hundred gold sovereigns.? Each member of his small retinue of veterans waiting patiently at the other end of the chamber under the halberds of their host's praetorians was likewise guerdoned.? Raine mumbled his thanks, paws clenched around the gift with unnecessary vigour.?

Terranix smiled thinly, well aware the younger marten, flush with shame and resentment, would have hurled the coins into his face, had he dared.? He dispensed with the usual formality of speaking through the mouthpiece of the Grand Vizier, and delivered his orders simply and without preamble, his voice rich and throaty, velvet over stone.

"You are going back, Raine."

~*~

Raine was stunned; without the years spent schooling himself having simply eliminated the inclination his mouth would have been agog. Kilkenne was larger than life right before him, one of the boisterous monologues of days gone by on his lips, sinking with a dull thud into an adjacent armchair.? Of course he had heard of the Marauders' exploits since he had "departed", but he had always assumed the leader spoken of in their annals was Kilk the Younger, the son the wily ferret had kept for long seasons out of the public eye.? Raine remembered all too clearly when the comrade-in-arms who spoke to him now had fallen on his sword, sprit broken after the decimation of his men by Lord Bogfoot Kalagon's grisly horde of Impalers, and how afterwards leadership of the horde had been passed in secret to Kilkenne's junior.

A wide, very genuine grin split the younger warlord's face, and he clapped the ferret heartily on the shoulder, his words having gone somewhat over his head for the time being.

"So I see it takes more than death to kill you, eh, Kilk? [haties]'s teeth, you are a sight for sore eyes."

Glancing back over his shoulder to Shael for a second, whose odd expression escaped his notice, he felt for an instant a rather unseemly euphoria wash over him.? It was three years ago, and all was well.? Then the conversation caught up to him, and the smile, in his eyes at least, went out.

"My father is Terranix of Sampetra, Kilk, if that means anything to you.? I am his servant, and his faith in me is shaken."

Distracted by the scraping of chairs and the constant rattling of the door, the marten looked back over Shael's shoulder, and saw that others seemed to be considering joining them.? He quirks a brow at the weasel, curious.

[Vengerak]

OOC:? Bleh.? Rusty.? Still.

EDIT:  Now that I think about it, I don't ever remember being corrosion-free and shiny.  :oops:

[Barkclaw2]

Cherry tripped over a stone in front of the old tavern. As the ground came up to meet her face she suddenly just didn't care anymore. As she lay with her face flat in the dirt she thought, Maybe I should'nt have come here. It's soooo depresing. Talk about weird towns. The female squirrel sat upright and brushed dirt from her face. Cherry grabbed the ends of her cloak and pulled them over herself, tightening her grip nervously. She sat there watching beasts go in and out. As it got later she got up and walked to the door silently. cherry scooted in hastily after a rat and quickly  sat down at a table. She pulled the collars of the cloak up around her face. She sighed. Why exactly am I in here? Too young to drink but at least it's warm and no one noticed me... Cherry sat until she opened her ears to the talk around her. A group of beasts were talking. Riparian can wait, I'm starting to like eaves dropping.

[Kilkenne]

(Holding a place, bumping this, and showing that I'm going to post here in the next 24 or so hours...Hopefully one of yall will see it.)
(Couldn't get in contact with Raine so this never happened.)

[Vengerak]

OOC: More like "never tried to get in contact with Raine."   :roll:  No e-mail, no PM... I'm ready whenever you are, man.  :wink:

[The Lady Shael]

OOC: LOL. I love you guys. ^_^ Such dedicated RPers.  :wink: We've been trying to get an RP going for about three years now....

[Kilkenne]

OOC:

darn I'm lazy.

Maybe in another 6 months >_>

[The Lady Shael]

OOC: That's the spirit.  :wink: Do you still have AIM?