FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

In The Mist Of The Erie Isles

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Sixty: A Volley Of Passion, Pt 3.

With darkness enveloping the Isles, the elven innkeeper turns his attention toward the doorway. After shoving so hard that the front door bangs loudly into the wall, he finds himself looking at a strange crowd. A Helngar enters the room, glowing, golden eyes scanning the nearly vacant space. With bright pink and yellow fur, the exceptionally vibrant Helngar wears masculine clothes. Looking closely at their figure, he sees no breasts. Males do not look so pretty, yet he's certain there's a bulge in this person's pants. Thoroughly perplexed, the innkeeper raises a brow.

Glancing back, the Helngar motions to people outside, as if giving them permission to enter. Following the Helngar are six more people. The first to enter is a beautiful woman, a human with flowing, blonde hair and wearing scaled leather armor over simple, teal clothes. Even with the scale-like strips simplifying her form, he can see that she's a stunning creature, with ample breasts and a slender waist. Beside her stands a much shorter female, whom he first mistakes as her daughter. With a very modest, almost non-existent bust, and similar hair, it's an easy mistake to make.

The dainty woman turns her head and looks upon the Vizheki innkeeper, brushing her golden locks away from her ruby eyes and briefly revealing one of her pointy ears. She's a Falmun, the lesser form of the elves. Entering behind them, a long-haired human male holds the hand of a Jaliscan female, whose wild, pink hair matches her shimmering eyes. Wearing a brown, flowing robe, yet another woman enters behind them. Though her clothes do not grip her body, the innkeeper can discern her elegant curves as she walks. She's as busty as the human woman and the Jaliscan. Her blue-tinted snout reveals her race.

The Lahnyt walks beside a towering Vizhek. The young elf wears a sling to support a wounded arm. A middle-aged human enters last, closing the front door and peeking through a nearby window, as if to verify that no one saw them entering the establishment.

“Sorry about the door.” The Helngar speaks in a very masculine voice. “I wasn't expecting it to swing so easily. I'm Captain Zufahl.”

“It used to creak and stick. My wife spent the better part of the last decade complaining about how annoying it was. Now that she's gone, I decided it was time to do something about it.” The innkeeper remarks, flashing a strange smile. “Quite a crew you have, Captain. What brings you to this spit of land we call an island?”

The peculiar Helngar looks toward the injured Vizhek, only to glance at the much shorter Lahnyt. Taking a seat at the bar, the woman removes her hood, revealing a vivid hide of several shades of blue, her orange brows sitting just above her fiery eyes.

“We're here to deliver the rockfish.”

“I'm sorry?” The innkeeper raises a brow.

“You heard me...” She narrows her eyes.

With a furled brow, the aging Vizhek scans the group. They appear confident, even eager to hear his response. He shakes his head and scoffs.

“I have no idea what you're talking about...” The innkeeper turns his back on the group.

“It's no secret that you dislike the Empire.” Steingar begins.

“Why would I dislike my own Empire?” The innkeeper asks as he glances over his shoulder, a hint of sorrow in his voice.

“This isn't our first stop, mister.” Mairlynn remarks.

“We've spoken to others, men who work the boats.” Jarae adds.

“And what do strangers have to do with this?” The innkeeper asks.

“Please. We really need to deliver the rockfish.” Irzain steps forward. “It's extremely important!”

Hearing the fear in his voice, the Vizhek turns around. He stares into the human's eyes, seeing an urgency in him. It's not the angry fervor of the others.

“Suppose they even needed a delivery... Why should I help you? What do you think you're going to accomplish by making that delivery?” The innkeeper asks, resting his hands atop the bar.

“These are dangerous times, sir.” Valan replies.

“We understand what we're asking.” Jarae interjects.

“Do you?!” The innkeeper snickers.

“It's very important. Please.” Harokian steps forward, his eyes glancing at the Lahnyt who sits before him.

“We must make this delivery. We just need to know where.” Kirsta insists.

“Do you want to know why I fixed that door?” The innkeeper turns to her. “Let me tell you... My wife spent much of this decade complaining about it, then one day, soldiers came to our island. First, they took the Jaliscan. The men were put in chains, and the women were stripped naked... Some of them, the fiercest fighters, were raped in the street. After suffering something so awful, they were murdered, with those who fought the hardest dying first. One of them was a friend...”

The crew fall silent, looking amongst each other as the innkeeper leans over the bar, glaring at them.

“Then they came for the humans, and so my wife was arrested! I was threatened for being a 'race traitor', but because I am Vizhek, I could not be touched. I tried to bribe her out of their chains, but instead they decided to spare her... She was murdered in front of me, 'executed for inferiority', they said... It was an easy decision for them to make, I'm sure, as she and I had been married for nearly forty years and she was long past her prime. I thank the Seraphs every day that our half-breed children are adults, who long ago moved to Ogrodin.

Finally, they took the Falmun, and because of the Empire's past relationship with the Lahnyt Kingdom, they urged the few residents of that persuasion to return to their homeland, lest something horrible befall them... Now I'm all alone at night. I wake up every morning to a cold space, where my wife used to be. I fixed that front door because every time I heard it creaking, which isn't often these days, I nearly crumble in front of the strangers who merely wanted to buy dinner and rent a room... Don't tell me how dangerous these times are! I am well aware...”

After his irate speech, the innkeeper bows his head forward and fights back the tears. With his agony on full display, Kirsta startles the group by walking around the counter. Reaching out a hand, she gently rubs the back of the towering, blue-skinned elf. He begins to weep.

“I'm sorry. I lost my first love to the Empire.” She speaks softly.

The elf turns to Kirsta, who lovingly embraces him. Crying like a child, she pets his back and softly shushes him. Irzain soon joins her, resting a hand on the innkeeper's shoulder.

“I lost my lover, as well. She was Helngar, killed for being a traitor.”

“I'm sorry.” The innkeeper sniffles, looking between them. “It's hard to hold in such pain, isn't it?”

“It is.” Kirsta nods.

“I'm sorry for your loss, sir, but we know what we're asking.” Jarae speaks softly.

“Please, just tell us where to go.” Valan's word are equally gentle.

The innkeeper sniffles and wipes his eyes. Without saying a word, he nods his head and reaches for a map of the local isles. Setting it atop the bar, he presses his finger onto the parchment, his fingernail just above an even smaller piece of land.

“There's a cove, and in that cove, you can make your delivery. Ask for Naemen. They need all the rockfish they can get.” The innkeeper continues to speak in code.

The crew look amongst each other for a moment, sharing a worried gaze. Why would they ask for Naemen, when Salman leads the rebels? Every one of them takes a moment to watch Lutala, who's ire has caused this detour.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much you've helped us.” Kirsta replies.

After leaving the broken innkeeper with a few vasariks for his trouble, the crew return to the battered Arona-Dahl and set a course for the isle. It doesn't take long, as the isle was already quite close. With darkness shrouding the land, they move slowly around the undeveloped and uninhabited island. Finding the cove, they drop the anchor and climb into the skiff. After winding the large spring which powers the propeller, they disembark from Arona and speed into the cove, finding a host of smaller ships tied to metal cleats embedded in the rocky walls.

A lone figure stands beside the mouth of a cave, quickly dashing inside upon seeing the unidentified boat. By the time they reach a small dock and tie down the skiff, the crew are met with a heavily armed welcoming party. Steingar helps push Harokian up and onto the dock, as the wounded Vizhek winces from the pain.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” A Falmun man sternly asks.

“We're here to deliver some rockfish, little guy.” Steingar replies, looking down at the diminutive Falmun.

“Well, aren't you pretty.” The Falmun snickers. “We appreciate the gesture, but I don't think we need the help of male prostitutes and wounded Vizhek.”

“Hey, I'm not a-”

Stepping in front of Steingar, Valan shakes his head. His fiancée, Jarae, approaches the Falmun.

“We need to see Naemen.”

The Falmun's eyes grow wide. He looks among the crew and then turns toward the long-haired human, who stands beside the Jaliscan woman.

“Salman?!” The Falmun gasps.

“No. I'm his brother, Valan.”

“Oh... I was told you were twins. I suppose now I know what to look for, huh?” The Falmun chuckles. “Naemen is inside. Follow us.”

The crew are made even more uneasy by this response, but thankfully, Lutala is containing her rage. With the Falmun and his goons leading the way, they escort the crew inside of the cave. Just beyond the mouth of the cave, hidden in the shadows during day or night, they find a set of heavy, wooden doors. Using a special knock, the Falmun proves his identity and the doormen unbolt and pull open the large doors. The light of a hundred lanterns and candles pour out of the hidden base, briefly straining the eyes of the more sensitive races, namely Harokian and Steingar.

Scores of men and women turn toward the strangers, looking upon them with a mixture of curiosity and mistrust. Harokian immediately realizes that he is in the minority, and that his presence may not be appreciated. After what he's seen, what he's learned while growing closer to the crew, and what the innkeeper told them only a few hours earlier, he knows that what the Empire is doing is not isolated to only a handful of isles; their anger is justified.

Deep in the cave, they find teams using pickaxes and shovels to cut out more rooms, bracing the walls and ceilings with wooden beams. A crowd of men with cheap, arquebus rifles and swords, most of them without armor, sit or stand near a podium carved from a single log. A familiar face stands behind the podium, giving instructions to the crowd and pointing to a map that's tacked to a large, wooden board. The Falmun leaves the group and wades through the crowd.

Harokian turns his head and watches the softening expressions of the others, who seem so eager to speak to the Lahnyt hybrid. Even Lutala seems pleased, though he doubts it's because of her friendship with the half-breed. Naemen listens to the Falmun speak, only to turn his head and look across the large cavern, where the crew wait patiently. Jumping down from the podium, which sits atop a small stage, he pushes through the crowd, who turn and watch with confused gazes. Seeing the small group, they follow their leader, who races up to the crew. With arms wide open, he laughs with joy.

“I'm so glad you've returned! It's been such a trying time!”

“Hello, Naemen.” Irzain waves.

“How have you been?” Steingar asks.

Naemen embraces Valan, then turns and hugs Jarae. He looks to the others and reaches out to them, moving down the line.

“Well, someone's happy!” Mairlynn remarks. “Is that a sword in your pocket, sweetheart?” She coos.

“You have no idea. It's been a trying time.” He says, making his way down the line. “We could really use some good news, right now.”

Steingar pats Naemen on the back as they briefly embrace.

“Since when are you pink?” Naemen raises a brow.

“We'll discuss that later. Right now, we have good news.”

“Thank the Seraphs!”

“This is the one.” Irzain looks to Harokian.

“You mean... Is he?!” Naemen gasps.

“So I've been told.” Harokian bows his head to the rebel commander.

“Well, this is good news!”

The rebels who stand behind their leader seem to know who Harokian is, cheering for the true emperor and raising their weapons. Harokian feels a wash of embarrassment, clears his throat and takes a step back. Lutala can stand it no longer. She steps forward and embraces Naemen last, only to pull away and look into his eyes.

“Please, Naemen, take me to Salman.”

Naemen's smile swiftly fades.

“Naemen?” Valan steps closer.

“About that...” Naemen looks away.

“No...” Lutala shakes her head and steps back.

“He's... Gone...” Naemen covers his eyes with a hand, his head bowing forward. “Lost in the attack on Mishgan.”

“No... No!” Lutala growls.

“What?! That can't be! We searched Mishgan, and we never found his body!” Valan shouts, his voice trembling.

“That's why we're here, Naemen. We're looking for this base. Where else could Salman be?!” Jarae interjects.

“Not here...”

“What happened?!” Steingar's eyes grow wide.

“Well, we were-”

“Where's Salman?!” Lutala screams, interrupting Naemen.

Her anger boils over, her magical powers no longer controllable. A gust of wind appears from around her body, blowing out most of the candles and torches. Only the covered lanterns remain lit. Immediately after this gust, the smoldering candles and torches explode into flames that stretch several feet tall and lick the ceiling, startling those who stand around them. Lutala's fiery eyes begin to glow a sickly green, her energy now entirely focused on the sinister Haze magic.

“Please, Lutala...” Harokian begins, his voice soft and tender as he rests his free hand on her shoulder. “Let him speak.”

Realizing what she's doing, Lutala's angry expression softens. She closes her eyes and bares her teeth, fighting the rage until it hides deep inside of her. Opening her eyes, they no longer glow, having returned to normal.

“I'm sorry, I... I just... I need to know. I miss him.” She whimpers.

“So do I...” Naemen bows his head and runs his claws through his golden hair. “Not long after you left, we began to build our forces. The Empire, however, was already moving from island to island, capturing 'inferiors' and frightening those they left behind. The humans, Falmun and Jaliscan among the military have been relegated to the worst positions, and those who haven't attempted to escape now serve in fear.”

“Dirty traitors...” A rebel grumbles.

“They have as much say in what happens to them as those who have been taken!” Naemen growls, glancing over his shoulder. “A week making alliances and growing our numbers finally attracted attention. Salman had planned for this and sent the smaller ships away, carrying messages and spreading the word. 'The rebellion must live on, even if we do not', he said. Shortly after this, she... The soldiers came, heading directly to Mishgan from whatever poor isle they'd raped and pillaged.”

As Naemen speaks, Mairlynn looks around at the crowd. She tugs at Irzain's shirt sleeve, gaining his attention, then whispers to him. He looks around the cavernous room and furls his brow.

“They attacked us from the shore, bombarding the castle with cannon fire. It was a complete surprise, as they sailed by night. When dawn came, they sent men ashore and the slaughter continued.”

“Naemen...” Irzain interrupts. “Where's your sister, Salasha? I don't see Roak, either.”

“Roak is somewhere in the base. Salasha is...”

“Where. Is. Salman?” Lutala growls, struggling with her rage.

“We were taken... I was not deemed an important target, and so I was placed on a Corvette, but Salman, as the rebel leader, was placed aboard the Galleon that bombarded us. They took him to be executed. I do not know were.”

Lutala balls her fists, her hands shaking as the rage continues to grow.

“How did you escape?!” Steingar asks.

“As the Corvette sailed away, in another direction, a small boat followed from a distance. The Captain, an arrogant and cruel bastard, dismissed them as overly curious fishermen. They were rebels. When night fell, they closed the distance, boarded the ship and killed most of the soldiers while they slept. They freed me, commandeered the Corvette and we sailed to this cove. Salman had instructed us to come here, to set up a secret base, just in case something like this had happened.” Naemen replies.

“A wise move.” Irzain remarks.

“Yes. The ships that escaped and the small boats Salman sent away with messages, they were all told where to go, should Mishgan ever fall. Those small boats found us, bringing new recruits and supplies. More come here every day, but I fear that Salman will not be one of them.”

Her rage once again at its peak, Lutala feels herself ready to explode. This time, however, she does not have the energy for an outburst. She bows her head, buries her face in her hands and weeps. The group share in her grief and no one judges her, watching her crying like a small child as she falls to her knees.

“Salman!” She exclaims through her tears.

Naemen drops to a knee and tries to help her up. Jarae, Valan and even the wounded Harokian join in, nearly carrying the sobbing woman into a room near the back. As they enter, a dark-skinned human with thick locks of hair looks back. He sits at a table, reading a book. With a furled brow, he examines the group.

“Lu... Lutala?! Oh my! Kirsty?!” He nearly falls to the ground as he scrambles from the bench. “Is that you?!”

“Roak?!” Kirsta steps forward.

“Kirsty!”

Dashing up to her and embracing the warrior, Roak sways from side to side and gives her a squeeze.

“It's good to see you, Kirsty! Roak hopes you don't mind if Roak continues to call you that!”

Krista blinks, her eyes growing wide at his coherent sentences. When she last saw him, he was a severely damaged man, his mind warped from Hirus' torture. She pulls away and looks into his eyes. Resting a hand on his face, she cracks a little smile.

“I don't mind.”

“Good!”

“You sound better.” She remarks.

“Roak is good. Lutala's treatments have helped. Roak still has... Moments... But he is recovering.” Roak replies.

“He's doing much better these days. Not sure why he likes to speak in third-person, though.” Naemen comments. “We grew accustomed to it.”

“It helps Roak remember who he is, on bad days... Why is Lutala so sad?” Roak cocks his head.

He approaches one of the many beds that the others have taken Lutala to. She sits at the edge, crying hysterically.

“What's wrong, Lutala?!” He takes a seat beside her.

“Roak?” She sniffles and lifts her head, looking to him. “Is that really you?”

“It is, blue one. What troubles you?” He asks, wiping the tears from beneath her eyes.

“Salman.” She whimpers.

“I miss him, too. Salman is always so nice to Roak.”

“He's a very good man.” She murmurs. “How are you feeling?”

“Roak is well. He still cannot remember what the Empire wanted from him, but Naemen, the watermelon, tells him that it will come with time.”

“I keep telling you to stop calling me that.” Naemen softly chuckles.

“You like it.” Roak smirks.

Seeing Roak's improved state helps Lutala; knowing the good she's done often eases her suffering. This time, however, it merely slows her tears. Overcome with emotion, the Lahnyt is drained. She lies on her side, her hands clasped before her snout as she murmurs to herself. Though the others cannot discern her voice, which is nearly a whisper, Steingar and Jarae listen intently. They look to each other, their heart's broken as the priestess prays to her God to protect Salman and reunite them.

Opting to give her space, the others leave the room, taking Roak with them. It's clear that even though his mind isn't nearly as damaged as it was when they last saw him, Naemen knows better. Roak is not yet well enough to be left unsupervised with someone as broken and powerful as Lutala; one thoughtless remark could set her off. Leading them to another room, a freshly dug cavern that's now a dining hall, Naemen shows them to a table.

“Where's Salasha?” Mairlynn asks, taking a seat at the table.

“Oh... She's, uhm...” Naemen hesitates to answer.

“Salasha is gone. That watermelon is filled with bad seeds!” Roak exclaims.

“Damn it, Roak!” Naemen growls.

“What is he talking about?” Jarae raises a brow.

“What happened to your sister?” Steingar asks.

“She...”

“Silver! Silver vasariks for her friends! She's a very bad watermelon!” Roak exclaims, slowly returning to a mental state the others recognize.

“Calm down, Roak. Remember to count.” Naemen speaks softly.

“Roak is sorry. One, two, three, four...” Roak begins to speak to himself.

“Talk to us, Naemen.” Kirsta pleads.

“Salasha... She wanted to help with the rebellion. She was angry that Salman was taking care of her, keeping her away from the work. He was concerned that she wasn't prepared for whatever could happen because of what we were doing, and I agreed. In fact, he came to me with his concerns, asking for advice; I told him, as his closest and as her brother, to keep her occupied, so that she couldn't start trouble...”

“I don't like where this is going...” Irzain murmurs.

“She was insistent, so we came up with a plan. We put her on one of the small boats with a message to an allied island. It wasn't even an important message. Just something to get her feet wet, so to speak... Well, they ran across an Imperial Corvette, and they were boarded. The boat’s crew were given the opportunity to share what they knew and be spared. Salasha stepped forward... Two days after we sent her away, she returned, leading the Corvette and that Galleon straight to Mishgan.”

Jarae covers her mouth in shock, while Kirsta and Steingar bow their heads and let out heavy sighs. Valan is at a loss for words, as are the others. Harokian is flabbergasted.

“Your own sister turned you in?!” The elven Prince gasps.

“She did more than that... She sold us for thirty silver vasariks.” Naemen rests his head in his hands. “I couldn't believe it. She led them ashore during the night, and helped them storm the castle. I looked into her eyes as she pointed right at me, calling me a rebel Captain, then to Salman, who had treated her so well. 'That's the rebel leader', she said. The Captain of the Galleon handed her the coins, and told her that when they reached wherever it was they were taking Salman, she could go ashore and buy passage to the mainland. They took us and bombarded the island in spite. That's perhaps the only reason we were even able to establish this base; they landed first and then attacked, giving many people time to realize what was going on and escape. I didn’t want to lie to you, but the truth...”

Unable to hide the pain, which the crew has forced him to relive, Naemen begins to weep. Harokian rises from his seat and approaches the rebel leader, standing behind him and resting a hand on his shoulder. He gives the half-breed a comforting squeeze, while the others join in their support. Suddenly, a rebel soldier bursts into the room.

“Naemen! Naemen!” He shouts.

“What is it?” Naemen sniffles and looks back.

“Please, come quickly! You need to see this!”

They bolt up from their seats and follow the soldier, who leads them toward the front door of the base. Hearing the increasing commotion outside of the room, Lutala lifts her head and wipes the tears from her eyes. Sitting up, she shuffles her feet as she heads for the door. Pulling it open and peeking into the main cavern, rebel soldiers dash past her. Near the front of the base, she can see the towering Harokian, who is the only Vizhek amongst the crowd. With his back turned, he looks toward the front. Overcome with curiosity, she makes her way into the main cavern and inches closer. Lutala wades through the rebels, who form a wall of flesh and bone near the entrance.

“Make way! Move, damn you!” Naemen growls at the soldiers.

“It's like looking in a mirror.” A rebel remarks.

“I wonder if their friends ever confuse them?” Another thinks aloud.

Upon reaching the front of the crowd, Lutala's eyes grow wide. Standing just inside the cavern, Valan embraces his twin brother, Salman. Jarae and Kirsta rest their hands on the Lord of Mishgan, whose surprise return has startled everyone. Standing in the hallway which leads to the sturdy front doors, just behind the brothers, are over a dozen men. They're the prisoners that escaped with Salman, and a few new recruits they'd picked up along the way. Lutala steps into the circle formed by the crowd, something that Salman immediately notices.

“Lutala...” He says with a warm smile, pulling away from his brother.

“S... Salman?” She sniffles.

“It's good to see you.” He takes a step closer.

“Salman...” A happy tear runs down her cheek.

“Aren't you going to say hello?” He holds out his arms to her.

“Salman!”

Racing up to him, she nearly jumps into his arms, throwing hers around his neck and squeezing tightly. Her tapering tail whips from side to side, fluttering her robes as Salman holds her tightly. He gives her waist a squeeze and nuzzles her cheek. She tilts her head back, throwing off her hood so that it doesn't obscure their affection, only to take a moment to stare into his eyes.

“I've missed you.” He speaks in his perpetually warm voice.

“I've missed you, too.”

“I thought about you a lot, every day since we parted.”

“So have I. That was a mistake, Sal. I didn't realize what I was doing. I never should've left you. Please forgive me.”

“What is there to forgive?” He furls his brow. “We're together now. That's what matters.”

“You're right.” She sniffles, her smile widening.

“Don't cry!” He lifts a hand and wipes her tears away. “I never want to see you cry.”

Trembling from joy as much as her nerves, Lutala rests her chin on his shoulder and sways with him. He feels so warm, his face against hers, his body pressing into her chest.

“How did you escape?” Steingar finally asks the obvious question.

“Yashuva. He took my hand and led me out of my prison cell.” He casually replies.

“Who?” A rebel scratches his head.

“They tried to feed him to a Medvyedii, but it didn't touch him.” One of Salman's associates begins.

“Yeah! It ate the guards instead, when they went to collect his bones! Then, it fought them all the way to the courtyard! We didn't have to do anything! It didn't even attack him when we saw it again! It was like the Medvyedii was his pet!” Another chirps.

“He released us from our cells and brought us here.”

“Impressive!” Naemen smirks.

“I didn't do anything. I simply walk the path...” Salman begins.

“And He walks with us.” Lutala finishes.

She pulls back and looks into his eyes one more time, her body still trembling like a leaf in a strong breeze. After a tense moment, Salman leans a little closer. Lutala meets him halfway, their lips pressing together. The rebels and the crew of the Arona-Dahl watch as they kiss, with many of them cheering and whistling. Harokian's smile spreads from ear to pointy ear and he begins to clap with the others. Steingar glances over, only to take a second look, his jaw hanging open. Harokian turns to him, only for his face to flush. Steingar looks toward his sling, which hangs loosely, having fallen off during the Vizhek's clapping.

“Aren't you injured?!”

“Oh... I guess it's a miracle.” Harokian replies.

“Unbelievable...” Steingar shakes his head but cracks a little smile.