The Plucky Paws Guild Issue #11

Reginald had spoken true, for no sooner had the stalwart band crested the hill than they spotted the outpost ahead. The small building appeared to be the remains of a once great fortress at the edge of a crossroad. A lone tower, the only complete building that remained beside crumbling walls. Wooden boards had been erected on some of the larger fallen walls to offer some solace from the weather. Theo could see travelers huddled around small fires beneath the meager protection. 

A patrol of the King’s guard idled in the intact tower; a few of the soldiers could be seen at the top on watch duty, armed with simple spears and shortswords. The guardsmen were the typical mix of forest folk: weasels, raccoons, and ferrets. Their leader was a seasoned badger who stood at the entrance of the ruins. 

“What are these ruins?” Sylvan asked as they approached the makeshift refuge.

“These are the ruins of the once great fort Kaaru’ven,” answered the bard as he gazed at the jagged silhouette of the ruins against the red sky of the rising sun. 

“Oh my!” Theo exclaimed with excitement. “I have read of this place, but I never thought to see it in person.”

“Oh?” Sylvan asked skeptically, “These ruins are worth mentioning in a book?”

“Oh, yes!” Theo responded, not noticing the rogue's lack of interest. “This fortress once marked the eastern edge of the Eagle Lands before the Vulture uprising. This fortress was taken by the Carrion Lord in 1639. From here, the wicked avians led a 5-year campaign of terror against the forest folk until the woodland creatures united as a people and joined forces with the Eagle Kingdom to destroy this fortress and the Vultures' power!”

“I can’t believe you did not learn this as part of your schooling,” Theo remonstrated thoughtlessly. “Your teachers were quite remiss in their tutelage if-”

“Some of us never had the benefit of schooling, Theo,” Reginald answered gently. 

“Oh!” Theo fur bristled in embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, Sylvan. I was not thinking. I did not mean to imply-”

Sylvan shrugged unconcernedly, “Don’t trouble yourself, Theo. I did not take insult. Besides, Reginald is wrong. I definitely had schooling growing up, it just was a very different type than yours,” she smiled wistfully.

“Continue, Theo,” Brother Fulce encouraged him. “It is good for us to know the history of the places we travel. And this was, some say, the birthplace of our people, was it not?”

“Oh yes!” Theo began again, excited as always to share knowledge. “Our first king, King Feniv Diremere the Brave, was crowned on this site after the devastating battle. His heroism and leadership won the day, and all the forest folk agreed he should be their king. It was his tribe of wolves that first began resisting the Vultures. Their success resisting the cruel depredations inspired the smaller creatures of the forest to unite behind them.”

“Ah, yes!” Melodus now joined in. “The Ballad of Feniv Diremane has faded from popular memory. These days, it sounds a bit archaic to the modern ear. Perhaps as we rest today, I shall sing to you of the great king’s battle.”

“Oh yes, please!” Theo said unabashedly. Sylvan rolled her eyes, and Reginald smiled.

As they reached the ruins, they found a caravan of field mice had stopped to wait out the previous night. The smaller creatures were preparing breakfast, and at first they watched the approaching party with wariness. Upon seeing the Bard and the Priest, they instantly relaxed and hailed the approaching party, asking for news of the road ahead. Brother Fulce answered their many questions, granting blessings as requested. Field Mice were frequently followers of the Shepherdess, so it was no surprise to see their enthusiasm at meeting one of Her priests.

The large veteran sergeant of the patrol looked the small band over with an experienced eye and decided they represented no threat to his band or the other travelers taking refuge. The badger stood a head taller than all the raccoons, save the large warrior. He nodded with respect to Reginald, who returned the salute.

“Greetings,” He offered, surveying the warrior's wounds. “It looks like you may have seen some action on the roads south of here. Anything we need to look into?”

“No,” Reginald answered without bluster. “We were waylaid last night. It was not by common brigands, but by someone who opposes our noble quest. They were dealt with and will not be a threat to any other travelers.”

“Still,” the Sergeant said, looking to the south and the road the band had traveled to arrive at the outpost. “I would be remiss in my duties if I did not check it out. How far back did you say?”

“About 4 hours,” Reginald answered. “You may find some foul corpses. I would recommend you burn anything you find there.”

“I reckon there’s a story to that one,” the veteran guard replied.

“Aye,” the warrior raccoon agreed with a wink. “There is, but I’ll leave it to the minstrel to tell it.” 

The badger laughed and waved for the rest of the band a welcome. Theo was surprised to see a group of lizards over at the side of the refuge. They appeared to be on some type of pilgrimage, but the exact nature of their travel was unclear.

The field mice, delighted by the arrival of a priest, invited the band to join them for breakfast. All in the band were weary and more than happy to take the kindly mice up on their generous offer. The meal was a simple fare of gruel and cheese, but simple did not mean poor. The gruel was well seasoned, and the cheese sharp and tasty. The caravan master was generous, and soon the raccoons were well sated by the food and warm fire. 

To joy of all in the camp, Melodus unslung his lute and began to tune it. 

“I was recently reminded,” he began, his voice pitched perfectly to draw in the eager listeners. “Of the grand past of these once noble ruins, and the part they played in our kingdom’s birth. Shall I sing you the ballad of Feniv Darkmire the Brave?”

The woodland creatures cried out in delight, begging the bard to sing for them. He waited a moment, letting the tension build. Once it had reached its peak, he strummed a bold chord and sang out in his strong, clear voice.

“O hark, ye gentles, to my song,
 Of vale and glen and brake,
 Where under shade of oaken strong
 Did woodland hearts awake.

The glades lay dark, the boughs hung low,
 ’Neath talons grim and cold;
 For vultures vile did rule in woe,
 And chained the free and bold.”

The song continued, telling of the foul Carrion Lord and his cruel treatment of the forest folk. The travelers were spellbound. The patrol guards left their post to better hear the song. 

The minstrel’s song continued, telling of the rise of the young wolf, Feniv Diremere, and how he united all the folk of the forest to battle the vultures. Melodus’s fingers plucked deftly at his lute. The tune was indeed archaic to the modern listeners, but that only added to its enchanting power. The listeners sat breathless as he sang of the great battle between the Carrion Lord and the brave wolf destined to be king.

As the final chords faded, the enraptured audience sighed collectively and was silent for a moment before bursting out in enthusiastic applause. The soldiers beat their spears on the ground in approval. Melodus, delighted with the response, bowed to the listeners. 

“Thank you, gentle folk,” he acknowledged their praise. “You are far too kind! But now I must bid you farewell. My companions and I must rest before we continue on our journey.”

The mice protested but soon left off when the caravan master urged them to let the raccoons rest. Theo had enjoyed the song as much as the others but had to admit he was very tired and, like his fellows, needed some rest.

The band enjoyed a peaceful rest under the shade of the fallen fortress. Shortly after midday, they awoke and decided there was still enough light to make some progress, and so they headed out on the road eastward.

The learned mage had spoken true, for the fortress did seem to mark the edge of the forest kingdom. The path began to lead upward, and by nightfall, the trees were thinning. They made camp in a pleasant grove, a clean stream passing nearby. Melodus regaled the group with more songs, and soon they slept, Reginald again taking the first watch.

Unlike the previous night, this night past without trouble. And so passed the next night and the next. For seven days, the band followed the trail eastward. The first few days, they would pass an occasional patrol or view a small village far off the road, but by the fifth day, they had left all remnants of the great forest behind. Rocks and small scraggly bushes were all they could see, and no travelers seemed to use these roads.

“It's quite barren,” Sylvan remarked on the morning of the sixth day. 

“Aye,” agreed Reginald. “And quite lawless too. We have passed beyond the King’s protection and must be wary as we venture into the mountains. Long ago, the once great Eagles ruled this land, but now only petty thugs and bandits live here. You have to travel far into the Eryie before you reach what remains of that faded kingdom.”

“It is a sad tale,” Melodus nodded. “None of the songs of those dark days fit for these lonesome lands. As the bards say, when it’s raining outside, you don’t drink vinegar.”

“Do they really say that?” Theo asked in wonder.

“I think I heard it once or twice,” Melodus winked, and the thief and priest grinned at the jest.

On the seventh day, they noted watchers among the rocks in the distance.

“Bandits,” Reginald spat in disgust. “They’re scouting us out.”

“Will they attack?” Theo asked, trying to hide the concern he felt at the proposition.

“I doubt it,” the minstrel said dismissively. “Bandits prey on the weak. They prefer poorly guarded caravans to small armed parties like us. We are what they would call a high-risk, low-reward scenario. Besides, everyone knows it’s bad luck to kill a bard. Why would they attempt such a thing?”

“Because they are desperate and hungry,” Sylvan answered.

“Well, there is that,” the mistrel added wryly.

“Speaking of hunger,” Theo asked, eyeing their dwindling bags of provisions. “Do we have enough food ourselves? How far up into the mountains are we traveling?”

“We are about halfway to a trading post. It lies higher up at the base of the great peaks. We have enough to get us there,” Brother Fulce answered.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Theo muttered. “Now if only the bandits would leave us alone.”

“Come, young mage!” Reginald patted him heavily on the back. “Either the bandits will attack, or they will not; worry will not change a thing.”

“There’s that philosopher again,” Theo grinned, and the large warrior joined him with a hearty laugh.

The bandits did not attack. Perhaps Melodus was correct in his assessment, but while the scouts trailed them most of the day, no attack came that day or night. But another enemy struck during the dark hours.

“The food!” Theo cried in disgust upon opening the provision bags to prepare breakfast. “It’s spoiled! All completely spoiled!”

Sylvan approached to see what the mage was shouting about, sticking her snout into the bag. She recoiled in disgust, spitting to clear her mouth from the taste of rot.

“Spoiled…that’s an understatement. I’ve never seen so many maggots. The food has been rotting for weeks!”

“Impossible,” Reginald countered, approaching the two smaller raccoons. “We ate last night and it was fine. Those provisions are made to last for weeks, months even.”

“Well, we must have gotten a bad batch,” Theo gestured to the bags that seemed to have mold growing on them.

“That is not natural decay,” Brother Fulce noted as he surveyed the spoiled food. “I fear our enemy has struck again.”

“Clever,” Melodus remarked, drawing close to the group. “He waited until we were halfway between our destination. Too far to turn back-”

“And too far to reach our destination,” Sylvan finished grumpily. 

“What will we do?” Theo asked, his furry face tight with worry.

“Travel on!” Brother Fulce said as if the answer was obvious. “As Melodus noted, we are halfway to our destination; therefore, going forward is better than going back. The Shepardess will provide!” With that, he set out on the trail, steadily climbing East.

“But eight days without food, can we do it?” Theo clammered, scrambling to catch up to the priest.

“We must,” the cleric said matter-of-factly.

“We must,” echoed the others in grim agreement.

And so the band continued up the trail, climbing the rock-strewn hills. On the tenth day, they noted the pale blue mountains of the Eyrie far to the east. The great peaks a blur against the sky.

“I have never been so hungry,” Theo commented as they prepared for the third day of travel without food.

“I have,” Sylvan noted. “You are lucky, Theo, to have never known hunger like this. Many of the forest folk do.”

Theo’s fur bristled again in embarrassment. Try as he might to escape his privileged past, he seemed to constantly be reminded of it. “I’m sorry,” he apologized to the thief. “I meant nothing-”

“No offense was taken,” the rogue acknowledged the apology. “Besides, we’re lucky to have fresh water, and the bandits have abandoned us.”

“Well, there is that,” Theo agreed.

Two days later, the lack of bandits and bountiful water seemed like little solace. Hunger was weakening the band, and they still had three more days before them. Perhaps more as their pace slowed as their strength dwindled.

“Will we make it?” Melodus confided to the priest. 

“We must,” the priest shrugged. “What choice is there?”

“Can you pray to the Sheppardess?” the minstrel asked.

“I have never ceased praying to the Goddess. She had not answered my prayers. I think she wishes to test us.”

“Why?” Meolodus asked in pain.

“I do not presume to know, Melodus. But I have faith it is never without cause.”

That night, they set a small fire, almost too weak to manage even that. They sat and stared morosely at the meager flames. 

“Now, Theo,” Sylvan admitted to the young wizard. “Now this is hunger unlike I have ever known.” 

Reginald simply nodded in agreement, and even Melodus was too tired to offer words of encouragement.

“It is hard, my friends,” Fulce said, trying to rally their courage. “But trust in the Sheppardess. She will deliver us soon.”

“Well, if this is not a sad sight!” a cheerful voice boomed from the edge of the firelight. “I came to share in your fire and company, but if this is the joy I can expect, perhaps I would be better to pass on!” A jovial laughter ended with an odd croaking sound as the band turned to see a most curious sight. A well-dressed frog approached, leading a large snail, pulling a large wagon home.

“Evening, good travelers,” the frog proclaimed as he approached the fire without any fear. “I am Soup. Soup the Frog, at your service!”