Drysart was dead.

An entire year after finding the former ruler of EverCrest dead in his bed from unknown causes, the reality had finally sunk in. Drysart was gone, and with his burial, so too was buried the tentative control he had over the city. Only with his power to eliminate anyone he wished with a single thought had he been able to keep the rival gangs of the land from killing each other and anyone who got in between them.

And now, it seemed, he had been eliminated.

Who had done it? There were many suspicions, but no proof. The various conspiracy theories were gossip for only a few weeks before the power struggle began.

Bloodsage was the first to assume control in the power vacuum. The powerful monster, something between a vicious hound and a bloodthirsty man, had little to no trouble defeating the various rivals that rose up to assume control of EverCrest. With his powerful ability to cause anyone to combust into fire, he had fought off the hundreds of people who struggled to become the new Drysart.

However, as his hungry eyes were on his enemies, they never even glanced at his allies. His lack of attention would be his undoing, it seemed.

Parcelan was his only friend amongst a horde of would-be rulers who would gladly kill him to solidify their own power. At first, the tiny prairie dog was a boon to him. Parcelan's advice and relentless spy tactics uncovered thousands of conspirators and Bloodsage had routed them all with the aid of the prairie dog's all-seeing eyes. The greatest threat to Bloodsage, however, was right by his side all this time.

The inattentive ruler already crushing all opposition, there was only one more obstacle in Parcelan's road to power. Two days after the last rival had been shut down, Bloodsage disappeared. How? No one could say, but they couldn't shake the eerie similarity between Bloodsage's disappearance and Drysart's death.

No suspects. No witnesses. No evidence.

With Bloodsage gone, there was nothing to stop Parcelan from rising to power. He didn't actually claim leadership, unlike Bloodsage. His subtlety was not his only difference from the man-hound, either. For whereas everyone was a foe to Bloodsage, Parcelan had friends...lots of them.

Within a few weeks, the city had flooded over with prairie dogs. Few of the natural citizens took notice at first; after all, what threat could a bunch of short, pudgy creatures covered with fur pose? Regrettably, they changed their tune fairly quickly. The prairie dogs proved to be violent, easily-angered and rude, especially under the infulence of the alcohol they loved so much.

By the time anyone noticed the true nature of their new guests, however, it was far too late. The prairie dogs had assumed control, and with no one left to challenge their numbers, they had little time turning the city into their own personal playground.

Today, the people of EverCrest remain a bullied, downtrodden people. Resentful of these fuzzy little parasites, but with no means to combat them, they patiently wait as the prairie dogs extort them...wait...and hope.

Okay. Go.

She had been smoking a lot lately.

At the moment, she was leaned up against the brick facade of The Green-Bellied Delidgamond, her favorite, if unfortunately-named bar. And currently, if life mirrored comics, there would be a fume of smoke trailing up from her head advertising her frustration, anger, and a slight amount of controlled bloodlust. But she had to settle for smoking, and smoke she did, flicking the still-flaming butts at passing vehicles and deriving little joy when she managed to hit open windows.

She didn't get out often. When she did like to go out, she liked a little drinking, a little karaoke, a little prose reciting, a little kinky sex, and The Green-Bellied Delidgamond was a perfect mix of all four. It was out of the way a bit, so it didn't attract the kind of crowds she looked on with distaste, but was usually comfortably full of a nice cocktail of people. Sometimes it would surprise you, dragging in anyone from the poorest bums to current hot politicians, but it was, for the most part, filled with a mix of people who, despite who, what, and sometimes even how they are, she called friends.

And she was outside because it had been invaded. The high-pitched shouts of drunken rodent voices seemed to invade her skull, making the headache bearing down on her even worse. She had been looking forward to a night of drinking, a night with friends, and she did not want to kick some rotund little furry body off HER seat, HER friends, HER alcohol.

Yeah, she was just a little posessive.

There was a bottle of mescal in one pocket and her sweet little protection strapped to her hip just inside the other, but damnit, she didn't feel like drinking if it meant drinking alone. So she smoked, looking blankly forward through the haze of the city streets, and wondering how flammable prairie dog fur was as she flicked another empty butt from her purple-painted fingertips.

He used to have ambition, he used to dream of being someone important. Now he dreamed of a warm meal and escape from the stench of alcohol soaked fur. When he was forced to take the job at the restaurant, he knew he would be able to feed his family, even if his life in politics was finished. The rise of Bloodsage made being a public figure more dangerous than it was worth, especially for Zair, whose cheap suits were extreemly flammable.

Zair sat up and cleared away some of the garbage. He looked out of the alley and saw a bar, with a woman standing outside smoking. As he watched her flick a butt out of her hand, his eyes followed it to the ground and he desperately wondered if there was enough left to smoke. He was immediatly disgusted by this pathetic thought. Even when he had to get that job as a waiter to support his wife, he was at least above scavenging. The waiter job was even becoming bearable before the change. However, once his patrons started to become round, furry, and surly, his job started to become much harder. It finally ended when he brought one the praire dogs his drink only to have the mug suddenly bashed into his head. Apparently he had made two mistakes. Firstly, he had brought the wrong drink, and secondly he had not been the attractive waitress the tipsy rodent had been hoping for. He was immediatly fired, because the owner of the restaurant didn't want any trouble. AFter that, he was unable to get a job anywhere. His wife soon left him, and he shuddered to think about what she did now to survive. The praire dogs had taken his money, but he had never thought they'd get his wife.

Just as Zair was about to gather the courage to creep from the alley and approach the distant woman for some money or smokes, he recoiled back into the shadows as two portly praire dogs walked past. He looked at them with a mixture of fear and anger. He thirsted for revenge, but knew it was futile. Instead, he would concentrate on lunch.

[ 02-27-2004: Message edited by: Zair ]

Besides, who could write through that infernal racket? Some upstart group of young whippersnappers was marching under the window of his small apartment, singing "'Dogs Pwn" in a loud, drunken, and off key manner. More insulted by the bad quality of the singing then the volume, Hireko grabbed his cane and tottered to his window.

Why... they were prarie dogs! Hireko squinted, cursing his old eyes. They had some of the look to them of that nice young chap, Parcelan, a student of Hireko in earlier times. These, however, were darker colored than he remembered Parcelan being. He surmised they were cousins.

Returning to his table, Hireko began to write the first thing he'd been passionate about in over three years - a letter requesting that Parcelan send his young relatives for musical lessons.

Useing the play dead trick he bought some time to consider while the chasos roiled around him. While others were busy vieing for ultimate power, Somthor just ploted to continue existance. Finaly salvation came in the form of a rodent named Parcelen. With bribes of imported beer (in great quantities) Somthor managed to never be on the choping block, still hiding in the false room up in the attic certainly sucked. Fourtunalty the horde of Prarie dogs came to town and with it freedom (as long as his beer supplies held out)

Caid '5 Fists' Berrit was a name that at one time had made him proud. His life in the underground world of wrestling was a successful one, if not short. Remembering the money he once had pained him, and the slight power within that very small world, and the women...oh god the women. A tear rolled down his right cheek, becoming lost in his greying beard.

Enough of this bullshit, he thought, as he slowly staggered to his feet. His head began to pound....from what? he thought. Then remembered the bottle of whisky he managed to obtain from an inebriated prairie dog last night. Caid loathed whisky, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

Caid began the long hobble up to street level, he did not plan to spend all night under his little bridge here. Turning to look at his current 'residence', he spat at the cardboard boxes and plastic bags. Tonight will be a night to rediscover some of that fame he so longed for and remembered, tonight he will do something other than drink! Tonight is a night of re-birth for Caid '5 Fists' Berrit!!

First, however, he needed a drink. Caid continued hobbling towards street level.

[ 02-27-2004: Message edited by: 5 Fists ]

Running his fingers idly over the page he had once written, he considered going for a walk. He stood slowly, and set his book down on the chair. Casting a glance at the door, he watched it slowly swing open, the hinge creaking ever so slightly. Only the usual sparse crowd passed by, furry, drunken, and not at all noticing Zexus as he exited onto the street. Across the way and down a block or so, some woman stood outside a local pub, propped against a wall, occasionally flinging things at cars, or at other pedestrians who were too drunk to notice.

Perhaps a drink wouldn't hurt. Zexus made his way across the street, and turned towards the bar.

MorbId sighed and turned another page in his ragged notebook. He finished a few more sentences in the decidedly unromantic candlelight, and the faint glow of a fungus, growing on a stuffed lion's mane. His subterreanean lair had once been the basement of a small musuem. Amongst the cases of stuffed animals and pottery, books and scraps of paper added to the clutter.

He wondered again what had happened to the other Waiszlings. The first days of Bloodsage's reign had made it clear that the lesser known, the newcomers, and the less confrontational citizens would not survive long. They had probably gone underground, as well. However, their own obscurity - which had made their disappearances so much easier - had worked against them. They had lost touch.

It was bad enough to hear their carousing outside, but it was only a matter of time before the praire dogs invaded the sunless ways of the tunnels and basements. They were tunnel-dwellers by nature, after all. Once homesickness set in, at least some of them would be invading this last sanctuary. Unacceptable.

MorbId's stomach growled. He wondered, not entirely idly, if praire dog tasted like rat. Probably better, he decided as he slipped into the sewers to scavenge. More meat on them, for one, and they spent their lives marinating themselves.

[ 02-27-2004: Message edited by: Señor Mórbido ]

She'd tolerated the power struggles, though, however grudgingly. As long as she could run her bar. She'd grown to love her regulars, every one of them, whether poor, rich, or otherwise. But then the prairie dogs began to frequent her little out-of-the-way paradise.

The little creatures bothered Ocy. They broke things, they yelled, they started fights - sometimes she managed to keep them in line with the help of several of her large bodied friends. But sometimes, it was impossible. She tolerated them, at most, and most times it was even hard to do that. Their numbers seemed infinate - however many she kicked out, more came, shoving her patrons and demanding alcohol. Sometimes, they even refused to pay.

Ocy was well-known for a great many things - her affinity for alcohol [making and consuming], her warmth among friends, and above all, her vicious temper. She always tried to keep the latter in check, but it had been hard lately. She knew the little rodents were powerful, friends of the new leader - but she could care less at this point.

She just about snapped when a glass flew past, narrowly avoiding her head. Growling, she looked for the source - and was, as she suspected, a rotund little creature with a violent gleam in his eyes.

"You're going to have to pay for that." She said, trying hard to maintain calm.

"I'm not gonn' pay fer a thin'!" The prairie dog slurred, obviously wasted.

"Yes, you will." Ocy growled back. This caused him to laugh and nudge his friends.

"Aww, look at th' dame gettin' all worked up! It's kinna cute, ain't it fellas?" He said before bursting into raucous laughter.

Ocy was quickly losing her temper.

As a self-styled protege of Bloodsage, Karnaj was almost universally reviled in current times. That suited him fine; not only did he revile the new Establishment right back, but he found solace in the counter-culture of discontent which was slowly emerging.

Wincing lightly, Karnaj's thoughts turned back to the last time he saw Bloodsage. It was a few mornings before his disappearance, and they were, as they were wont to do in those days, discussing esoteric issues of logic and reasoning over morning tea. Everything seemed status quo, save one thing: Bloodsage had given Karnaj a rather odd look before they parted ways, and said the following words:

"Logic begets you little in this world, my friend. The will to do what no one else can--or will--is what separates braggarts from men of power. Take care."

And two days later, he was gone.

And now, in the midst of a three-brandy buzz, Karnaj became aware of a annoyingly loud rodent to his right, harassing the bartender. She was obviously angry, but she knew if she assaulted one, she'd be in bigger trouble than it would be worth.

Karnaj, however, was not in such a situation. Bloodsage's words ran through alcohol-addled head. Slowly, he stood. He heard one of the rodents saying, "...dame gettin' all worked up! It's kinna cute, ain't it fellas?" before the five of them burst out into laughter.

"Say, fellas," Karnaj began, "why don't you pick on someone who's in a better position to fight back?"

"WOT?" one of them bellowed. He jumped down from his stool and staggered over to Karnaj, looking him squarely in the eyes with hot, burning anger. The prairie dog barely came up to Karnaj's thigh. "What'd you say, you sot?" he asked rather absurdly.

"Well, the way I see it, you got two options, the way you're going. Either she's gonna kick you out, but then she might lose her place. And if that happens, well...shit, man, then you're not gonna have anyone to bother, right?"

The prairie dog wavered and wobbled as he thought this over. Such was his intoxication that Karnaj's words did indeed make some kind of sense. "I getcha, drunkie," the rodent squeaked. "So wot should we do?"

"Well," Karnaj said, "your second option is that we all go outside, you try kick my ass, and then bring me to the dungeon. Or, I kick all your asses, and you can't back here anymore."

The rodent and his buddies perked up at mention of a fight. "Come on, boss, let's kick this guy's ass! We can always come back later!"

"Yeah," the runt in front of Karnaj muttered non-commitally. Then, with more force: "Yeah, alright. Let's go do this. Outside, you lush!"

Karnaj couldn't help but grin like a fool as he followed the prairie dogs out onto the street. It didn't much matter how the fight turned out, because at this point, he had nothing to lose.

Zair felt some pity for this outnumbered man, but whatever trouble he had created was his own. Instead, Zair's eyes widened as one of the emerging praire dogs heedlessly dropped a near full bottle of beer. THe short trip to the ground kept the bottle completely intact, and Zair managed to grab it before all of the beer had completely spilled out. The praire dog did not even notice, so intent on the imminent brawl. Zair quickly made some distance between himself and the now fully emerged combatants. Might as well enjoy the free show, he thought as he leaned against a wall, sipping what little beer was left. And if he could get in a free whack with the soon empty bottle, all the better.

"Nice evening for a walk," he said to the girl, who appeared to be smoking. He still could not be certain whether evening had actually come. "A bit crowded, though." His words seemed well timed, as a cluster of prairie dogs filed their way drunkenly out of the bar, along with a single man of more prominent stature. Looks like a fight, he thought vaguely to himself, watching the roudy creatures. They're even drunk already. A few convincing accidents could even the odds. He suppressed a wry smile, as one of the prairie dogs tripped over its own feet.

Three blocks ahead, The Green-Bellied Delidgamond came into view finally. He'd only been there a handful of times, but the bartender seemes nice enough to those without fur. Caid could hear the commotion before seeing it, his eyes couldn't focus all that well. Damn pounding.

As he hobbled up to the entrance, he could see a brawl starting between a man and a group of those blasted dogs. Caid nodded sternly at the two men he saw watching, and out of the corner of his eye managed to make out a figure in an alley. Femenine, he thought...and immediatly dismissed the idea of going to strike up a conversation.

Caid stumbled past the entourage, swearing under his breath...he did that when his mind snapped him back to reality. Time to find a drink.

"Want me to go deal with things, boss?" A burly man said, startling her slightly. She looked up to see a large man, nearly a giant, standing behind her with arms folded over his chest.

"Let him deal with things for now - those rodents may talk a big game, but they can't fight for crap, especially when they're all boozed up." She replied, sighing to herself. The man just nodded and stalked back to the place he must have been standing before.

She needed a drink.

She was a Goth.

They were rare, since Drysart fell. Bloodsage had no mercy upon them, and those that followed him seemed to take special pleasure in hunting them down. They were a leech-like people once, hiding in the cracks and crevices of EverCrest, unobtrusive even to begin with and now almost completely unseen; what hadn't been destroyed had been driven into hiding. They were almost never seen outside, and almost never in such a place as the girl now was: in public.

Nicole was a special case, however. She hid her eyes behind her hair, hid her lips with her hand as she bent down to her cigarette again. She had always taken care to keep the marks of her order concealed, where they could not be forgiven. Pale skin could be a sickness. Dyed hair could be vanity. She exhaled another plume. Her rust-colored eyes, behind her hair, peered up at the other, quickly scanning over him before looking to the side, where the fight was percolating.

"Not as crowded as inside, though," she said again, her voice seeming to come from far away, "And that's a crowd that's far less preferable to this one. They ain't too friendly to those that don't have fur." She shifted against the wall, flicking off ash. She nodded toward the other. "Name's Nicole. Gonna watch the fight before you drink? Heh." Her painted lips pulled back in a slight grin; the teeth beneath were ever-so-slightly pointed. "People bleed more when they're drunk."

Putting all his effort into that, however, was patently unwise. The other four prairie dogs pounced simultaneously, their little fists and claws striking places thought untouchable by Karnaj. "Ow, hey!" he yelled, more in annoyance than actual pain. Attached to him like excited grandchildren, he began pounding them on the head, trying to shake them off.

His fist came down and connected solidly with one of the prairie dog's heads; he let go, tottered a few feet, muttered something about Finland(wherever that was) and toppled over. Two down, three to go. Not bad for someone who was little more than a drunk.

Sharp buck teeth sunk into the skin on his hand and wrenched open a pretty wide wound. "YEEEEEOOOOWW!" he screamed, and popped the offending rodent square in the back with a free foot. As he turned his head to see the other two, he caught a glimpse of them charging as a kind of furry battering ram. They bull-rushed him, one clipping his knees and the other leaping up and knocking him roughly to the cobbled street.

As the now three prairie dogs began to mercilessly pound Karnaj with their tiny fists, he couldn't help but acknowledge how ludicrous he must look right now. If he were just observing this fight, he'd probably be grinning at his misfortune and sheer idiocy. Instead, he grinned in a general sort of way, musing that he probably put an a pretty good show.

Hey, it was cheaper than the theater.

Caid pulled up a stool by himself and just sat, he wasn't very good at approaching people these days. In a low whisper 'A beer pleas-' he cleared his throat. 'Can I have a beer pease..?'

Many thoughts ran through his head as he sat...waiting. How he was going to pay for this seemed to be the most prominant..

"I'm just passing the time," Zexus continued, though his eyes remained fixed on the fight. "Since someone else did my job, I really haven't much else to do. Besides, my friend enjoys the buffet." He gave the girl a brief glance, and a small smirk, before returning his eyes to the desprately struggling man. The arena appeared smaller, as some of the crowd tightened the ring. This would not do. As the crowd shifted slightly inward, Zexus narrowed his eyes. Several of the frontmost prairie dogs fell simultaneously onto their faces, forming a living mound of rotund rudents, and assuring the ring could shrink no further.

With a short chuckle, Zexus commented, "Clumsy little drunkards, but vicious if one turns his back." He continued to watch the small battle.

He said something under his breath, something she couldn't make out, but then cleared his throat, "Can I have a beer pease..?", he asked.

"'Course. That's what I'm here for." Ocy said with a smirk and disappeared behind the bar, coming back up with an oversized mug nearly brimming over with beer strong enough to singe the hairs off a grown man's chin - he looked like he needed it.

"Here you go." She said, placing it in front of him. She tilted her head, trying to get a better look at him.

"You've been here before, but you've never told me your name." She pointed out. She liked to know her regulars, and he'd been here enough for her to consider him one.

He wore a long, bloodstained robe. The robe was tattered, frayed, and bits of his skin were showing through holes. He wore no shoes and as a result his feet were always bloodied and covered with calluses. He was a purposeless, idiotic man, and if he told him that, he'd agree with you. But he would also think of you as the same. He called himself Heraclitus but his birth name was Roinn. He rode his canoe around the city and gave speeches in the streets, using a metal rod to propel his canoe. On numerous occasions, he had avoided being captured and committed by those dogs of the city. Dogs... he chuckled to himself.

"Ridiculous! You people of pompous pasts and pretencious futures..." He yelled as he began spraying his idiocy. He did this for no other purpose than change. Ahh! Change! he thought while swiveling in his canoe and shouting pretenciousness. This particular sermon he felt it necessary to roll his canoe through the street while shouting.

Uhum, uhum... Not many peoples... he thought as he gazed upon the audience of two people. Two....two...two is a boring number....why not three?! Three, three, three, nine, twenty-seven, nineteen thousand, six hundred, and eighty-three! Perhaps... Perhaps this place is better left without the change of the water! he thought...

Pressing his poll to the ground faster, he came to a corner. He nearly toppled while trying to turn. Seeing the neon sign of a bar called The Green-Bellied Delidgamond, he thought to himself, Chemiluminescent...? Hah... No heat!! and so expressed his interest. Pushing faster towards the bar, he picked up his sermon again. Looking down, he noticed a brawl of sorts. Frustrated prairie dogs seemed to be attacking a man of average build to no avail.

He continued to race toward the crowd, but ceased speaking. He stopped several meters short of the fight and admired. Ahh, war. Yeess, conflict. The prairie dog's egos far surpass their mass...Uhum...Uhum... After watching for a bit, he suddenly went into motion. He now circled the fight in his canoe, and begin to yell loudly. "You bloodied rodents! GET AWAY! BE NO MORE! DO NOT EVEN TRY TO HURT THAT MAN!... OR YOU, MAN! YOU BE NO MORE! IT'S WORTHLESS! THERE'S NOTHING BETWEEN YOU! NO, NO! STOP!"

He persisted in his mad rage.

[ 02-28-2004: Message edited by: Nny ]

'You've been here before, but you've never told me your name.' she stated. Caid continued staring at his mug and swallowed hard before answering.

'Uhhh....yes well..'he began. Clearing his throat, he continued. 'You may..uh, well I'm Caid and...' He trailed off..visibly stumbling over his words, he hadn't spent much time talking to anyone lately. 'Than-uh, thank you for the drink...miss....?'

Caid raised a hand and began to rub his head, muttering something under his breath, then taking another large drink. Still knockin' em dead, eh 5 Fists? he thought to himself, supressing a chuckle.

He lead in with what looked like a kick, but switched his motion and managed to land a stout fist across the prairie dog's jaw. The rodent was spun fully around and hit the ground with a satisfying thud. Knowing that the other two had probably charged again, he turned his head, spotted one, and simply fell on him as he ran, pinning him awkwardly.

"Hey, you get off my boss!" the other one said, sprinting haphazardly at Karnaj. The prairie dog got a stiff-arm for his troubles, leaving Karnaj free to force the leader to submit.

"What do you say?" Karnaj yelled hoarsely. He managed to get one of the rodent's arms twisted around its back, and he applied a judicious amount of force to it. The prairie dog squealed. "You gonna come around here anymore?"

Before the rodent could respond, an onlooker in a--canoe with wheels?--started to shout at them. "You bloodied rodents! GET AWAY! BE NO MORE! DO NOT EVEN TRY TO HURT THAT MAN!... OR YOU, MAN! YOU BE NO MORE! IT'S WORTHLESS! THERE'S NOTHING BETWEEN YOU! NO, NO! STOP..."

Karnaj, utterly nonplussed, resumed wrenching the prairie dog's arm. "OK! OKAY!" the rodent squeaked. "We won't come around again! But my boss is gonna hear about this, and you're gonna get it!"

"Name's Karnaj. Tell him I say hello." Karnaj got up, shoving the rodent away as he did. They all picked themselves up and toddled off as best as each of them could, the crowd parting for them. Karnaj watched them leave, then went back into the bar.

"Three shots of brandy and a clean rag, if you got it," he said as he took his old seat at the bar. Doing his best not to bleed all over the place, he added, "Those runts shouldn't be coming back, but all the same, I'll apologize now for any trouble you might get into on my account."

His attention was suddenly drawn as the tide of the battle seemed to turn. With some quick moves on the part of the lone human and the intervention of a local madman, the praire dogs fleed as fast as their injured limbs would take them. Feeling an uncommon sense of bravery, Zair hurled his now empty beer bottle at the fleeing rodents, missing them by several feet. Pleased at himself for his brave participation in the battle, Zair turned and headed for the entrance to the bar that the man who called himself Karnaj had just entered. Before going in, he thought of something and turned back to retrieve what was left of his broken bottle.

He had never been to this particular establishment, though he knew its reputation. He spotted the bloody combatant calling for some brandy and approach him. Slapping him (gently) on the back, He said, "It's about time someone showed those furry bastards they don't own this town. Very impressive fighting out there." Taking a seat next to the man, he quickly added, "Seeing that fight was even worth the cost of my beer. When you and those rodents came out through that door, I had the bad luck of being on the other side. Knocked me and my beer right to the ground." He adds, still holding the broken bottle, "I'm alright, it's just a shame I spent the last of my money on that drink...."

"Caid, eh? Well, hello, Caid. I'm Ocyrrhoe - but people around here just call me Ocy." She answered, "And, you're welcome."

She smiled as he took another large drink - he seemed nervous. Just then, the man came back from the fight, bleeding all over her floor.

"Three shots of brandy and a clean rag, if you got it," he said as he sat, "Those runts shouldn't be coming back, but all the same, I'll apologize now for any trouble you might get into on my account."

Nodding a bit and saying nothing, she scanned the crowd for someone, finding her leaning on a wall and looking bored. She was clad in a skintight leather dress and was without shoes - one of her quirks. Ocy had a habit of taking in strays if she saw them fit, and this girl had been one of the firsts. She'd taken her in as a child, and saw her as her child still, having none of her own.

"Rena! C'mere." She shouted, ducking under the bar again and retrieving two things - a large bottle of brandy and a box.

Rena immediately started towards the bar, emerald eyes scanning the men who sat there - focusing on Karnaj.

"Yes, ma?" She said, resting her hands on the bar.

"Take care of our friend here. He just helped with our little pest problem." She said, smirking.

Rena broke into a bright smile and took the box and brandy, going to Karnaj. Ocy turned to him and nodded her head.

"Thank you for that. I'd probably have punted the little fucks and gotten myself into a scrap of trouble, had you not come along. If I know their type, they won't be coming back. They may report me, but I'll act like I saw nothing. No big problem - it's happened before." She said with a smile as Rena reached him and, without asking, began to tend his wounds with ointments and bandages.

"Y'know, since I'm in good spirits now..." Ocy started, and climbed on top of the bar.

"Drinks are on the house tonight!" She said loudly, grinning as the room broke into cheers and hopping back down, eyes resting on Caid once again.

The three reigns had one thing in common: they did not tolerate rebellions.

When there were protests organized to speak up against Drysart's systematic persecution of the furries, he didn't even blink as he eradicated people without a thought.

When various gangs united to try and bring down Bloodsage, the man-hound laughed long and loud as he set their feeble attempts to overthrow him ablaze.

And when people began fighting back against the prairie dogs, Parcelan brought in the brutes.

The most popular theory of the brutes was they were some sort of long-lost cousin of the prairie dogs whom the rodents had refrained from calling in due to the fact that they had no real desire to share anything. Most of the discussion about the brutes revolved less around what they were and more around what people hated from them.

Brutes were similar to ten prairie dogs stacked together, everything about them was worse than the prairie dogs they befriended. They stood taller than the normal citizens of EverCrest and broader as well. They ate twice as much and drank three times as much as the normal prairie dog; sightings in which a brute would guzzle an entire keg of beer after ingesting three roast turkeys were common.

And they were five times as mean as any prairie dog. Whereas the shorter rodents primarily had numbers and scalding insults on their side, the brutes had the strength to send a well-sized man flying into a wall with a well-placed punch. And they never hesitated to use their strength, either, particularly when under the influence of alcohol or their short tempers.

Regardless, there were those that regretted fighting the prairie dogs when a tremendous brute, flanked by five or six prairie dogs, began to roam the streets in packs. Still, Parcelan couldn't shake the feeling that the seeds of rebellion had already been sown.

If they had found a way to combat the prairie dogs, they might find a way to combat the brutes. Still, he took solace in the fact that before they did, they would feel what a prairie dog the size of a giant could do.

A pair of red eyes appears on the black brick wall and starts to form into a person. The shapeshifter Vise sighed with relief. "That was close one." He had lots of close ones. It was just so hard not to piss the praire dogs off. Things hadn't been easy under Drysart's rule but they went to worse with Bloodsage and then to overcooked when Parce took over. He had to do something. He had to find...someone to help him stop this tyrannical rule.

Turning into a mass of red and black he soon contorts into a small hamster with red sunglasses and a flamethrower. "Lets see the those fuzzballs try to tackle someone like them." He then patters off in search of his answer.

[ 02-28-2004: Message edited by: Vise the Stompy ]

The atmosphere inside was as she resembled: close but welcoming, with low, brandy-colored lights and warm brick walls built over the ancient wooden foundations of the old tavern. The bartender and owner, oddly enough, was the same one now as from long ago, though the place had come a long way from it's roots. Modern conveniences lit the place and kept the temperature perfect, held the low hum of music at a perfect and constant volume, entertained and provided atmosphere. But the marks of the old tavern, the scrapes from old swords and burnt scars from old fire still showed through, here and there.

She loved that feeling. Even the crowd, the usual people and prairie dog mix she was beginning to grow used to, couldn't cut down on it for her, and for a brief second she lingered in the doorframe, remembering when she used to wear a different skin. Then she moved, slipping between the people with a mumbled excuse me, her eyes and face darting away. Occasionally her presence would aquire a stare, and once or twice a muttered insult or jeer, but generally people were as people always were: nonchalant and uncaring, like ostriches, happily ignoring the unusual until it sat down in their lap.

She had marked her seat with a little defacing, and was happy to find it was unoccuped. She slid herself onto it and slid her eyes up, clearing the tendrils of hair away from her painted eyes as she waited for the bartender. She knew her; service was the same no matter who you were, and Ocyrrhoe was a good judge of character. She said nothing, was merely patient. If there was one thing she had learned, it was patience.

The bartender, Ocy, spoke to him: "Thank you for that. I'd probably have punted the little fucks and gotten myself into a scrap of trouble, had you not come along. If I know their type, they won't be coming back. They may report me, but I'll act like I saw nothing. No big problem - it's happened before."

She then proclaimed that drinks were on the house, and he couldn't help but smile a bit. He allowed himself to be tended to by the young woman who called Ocy 'ma.' Doing his best not to scream openly as the scalding salves removed dirt and bits of fur from the wounds, he allowed his hand to be wrapped, but did not let Rena bandage anything else. "They are not deep; they will heal on their own," he said. "But thank you all the same."

"Not at all," she said. "So, what'll it be?"

"One brandy for me, one for my new friend. Might's well leave the bottle."

"Sure thing." she poured the shots. "Enjoy, fellas."

The man next to him watched all this. Silently, after calling into mind the last thing the man had said, Karnaj passed him one of the two brandies. "To your fallen beer," Karnaj said, raising the shot.

"And to your fighting," the man said. They clinked the shot glasses together and drank. Karnaj winced, and massaged his bandaged hand, which was throbbing.

Turning back to the man, Karnaj said, "I know I'm not one to talk right now, but you look like hell warmed over. When was the last time you ate? I am a fool, but you needn't use compliments as a means to get a warm meal or a fresh drink."

"What do you--"

"It's alright. There was nothing impressive about my fighting. I'm three times taller and four heavier than any of them. I doubt they could've beaten me sober." Karnaj paused. "And now...things are probably going to get worse."

"Worse?"

Karnaj leaned close to the man. "I knew Bloodsage," he said in a low voice. "He did not tolerate dissenters. Neither will our new fearless leader. I'm sure he's got something nasty in store for me....or at least he will, when he gets word of what I did. I just hope he's not...not ready to do what Bloodsage wouldn't.

"But I prattle on," Karnaj poured another two brandies. "Tell me, what's your name?"

"Hey there." Ocy said as she retrieved the drink that this particular woman liked - she got the same thing every time she was there. Hard liquor.

"Just assuming you want the same thing." She explained as she poured the strange colored [a clear light green] alcohol into a mug.

Just then, Rena walked behind the bar and leaned back. Ocy gave her a smile, which was returned.

"Rena, honey, want to do me a favor?" Ocy asked the woman.

"Hm?" Rena asked suspiciously.

"Want to go make dinner? Enough for..." - she scanned the bar - "'Round thirty people?"

Rena narrowed her eyes. Ocy smiled sweetly as she could at her, smiling brightly.

"Please? Get Mikah and Jaren to help. Mikah can cook pretty good - Jaren can... well, he can lift things and take orders well. I'll be back to help here and there." Ocy said. Rena heaved a sigh, but smiled.

"Ok." She said, and ran off to get Mikah and Jaren - two other strays Ocy had taken in. Jaren was a giant - big, obediant, and not all that bright. Mikah, on the other hand, was small and withdrawn.

She turned her attention back to Nicole.

"But I prattle on," Karnaj poured another two brandies. "Tell me, what's your name?"

"Oh, my names Zair. Blame my parents for that one. Thanks for the drinks, it really hits the spot. Things have been tough for me, but I can't complain. Its been tough for a lot of people since things changed. A lot of people have been feeling the strain, and a lot of people are getting fed up. But I guess I don't have to tell you that." Zair took a drink.

"Hey don't worry. If those guys come back, I can back you up. I've been in a few brawls and I can handle myself in a fight." Zair's scrawny physique betrayed his words.

Zair took another drink and enjoyed the luxury of getting drunk for free.

"You know me too well," she said, her voice slightly raspy from the harsh nature of the alcohol, "Especially when you tack the word "free" on there. Generous." By now the usual sting was gone, and the rolling warmth receeded, leaving behind something more welcome than anything else right now: nothing at all. The haunting, typical pain and the usual effects of intoxication negated, leaving behind a blessed sense fo the normal which she celebrated with another quick sip.

"And if you need help, don't hesitate to call on me," she said through a grin. Her eyes made a quick dart, past Ocy's head and over the bar itself, staring, seemingly, at the wall, before snapping back. "You know I'd do a lot to keep this place healthy."

This wasn't what he had expected, not at least when Drysart was still in control. He had been studying to join up at Gydyon's law practice, but that kind of fell through when Bloodsage took over, and he foolishly decided to try and be the hero and step between the man and one of his targets. The burn mark on his side and his being disbarred were proof of that. The law degree still hung on the wall, unused, useless. Kind of like his newspaper. People only read it now for what passed for entertainment now in the city. The prairie dogs were sucking up just about everything else.

Sighing, he sipped the last gulp from his whisky and ginger. That was his side job, otherwise he'd never make ends meet. Though his liquor license was tenuous, he had been able to get shipments from old man Callalron, and become a supplier to the many bars and taverns that still flourished in the city. He grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels to refill his cup, but was disappointed to find it empty. Brushing some papers aside, he checked for a back-up. Nothing. The drawers in his bureau turned up jack as well. "Damn...Time to refuel, I guess," he muttered, looking towards the out of date computer glowing on the desk. The article on the sanitation problems in the city would have to wait, time to stop by his warehouse.

Pulling on his jacket, he stepped out into the empty rows of cubicles and kicked aside an empty soda can as he left. Going down the stairs, he thought to himself, "Y'know, this trip wouldn't be so bad if I still had that car..." But then again, it had been a while since five prairie dogs had broken into it through the window and driven it off. Besides, he could always walk, it had gotten him into shape, and besides, he had his .45 in the harness on his chest, and his favorite 'toy', a wrist-mounter taser, in the guise of a bracelet on his wrist. The taser would usually get a 'dog out of his way without having to explain to an angry tribunal why there was a prairie dog with a bullet hole in his head. He had gotten out of that twice, but he couldn't keep pushing his luck.

He had saved up enough from both of his jobs to get that engagement ring that Lsanna had been waiting for, though it had taken a few years, and now it was time to get the plane ticket to fly out to her so they could have the wedding. "Only a few more years in this town, then I'm out," he mused, as he passed countless empty alcohol bottles, buffalo wing bones, pizza boxes, and water-faded porn magazines on the road. It took him half an hour, but soon he was getting close to the docks where the warehouse that contained his liquor stores. He was a little worried though, something had been nagging at him for the past week or two. Though the shipments usually came monthly, the latest was late by several days. It wasn't like Callalron to be late. "I hope nothing's happened to ol' Call..." he whispered to himself as he neared the door, fumbling for his keys.

That would prove unnecessary as he saw that the lock was unhinged, and the door open a crack. "Aw no..." he groaned, as he seized the handle and pushed the door open. It was exactly as he feared. All over the floor of the warehouse were empty and broken liquor bottles and drunken prairie dogs. His eyes scanned the shelves and crates, but not a single undrained bottle could be found. Carefully stepping over the snoring rodents, he made his way back to his office, and found it ransacked. This was it...he was ruined. He braced himself on his desk as he considered his options. If he was able to take what little money the prairie dogs had on them, he might be able to afford a bus ticket.

It was then that he saw it. Underneath yet another pile of papers in one of his drawers, he spotted the neck of a bottle. His heart pounding, he took hold of the cool glass and pulled it out. It was a bottle of Stolichnaya vodka, 2004. He was amazed that the prairie dogs had missed it. With this, he might possibly be able to get a hefty donation from one of the local bars, as a bottle of this stuff could act as a 'get out of jail free card' for anyone possessing it. That, plus what he got from his tipsy tormentors outside could salvage this situation.

"Hey, boss," came a husky feminine voice from behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw Drakana and Hillodania standing in the doorway. As he had hoped, Hillodania had a wad of bills in her hands, most of it liquor-soaked, obviously from his uninvited tenants. "That's it, then, you're done," the scarred dark elf remarked, not needing an answer. He nodded, and tucked the bottle into his coat. As they walked to the door, his future sister-in-law asked him, "So, what are we going to do about these guys? I got our 'payment', but surely you aren't going to leave them there?" He paused at the door, stroking his scruffy beard. His eyes brightened as he got an idea. "Do you still have your lighter, Drak?" The bouncer's eyes narrowed, but she handed over the cigarette lighter. She had taken up smoking briefly, only to quit a short while ago after he found out about it. None of his employees were going to smoke if he had a say about it. Not only was it unhealthy, but prairie dogs were known to accost you if they knew you had smokes.

With a few flicks, he got it lit, and with a nod to the two women, tossed it in onto the alcohol soaked floor. Hillodania quickly shut and bolted the door, and all three ran as flames quickly spread over the floor. The howls and squeals of the rotund rodents could be heard behind them as they got their rude awakening, but none of them would be getting out. As the entire building went up, Azrael stood with the two elves, watching his former livelihood burn. His temper might very well have gotten him in trouble again, but this affront had deserved vengeance. He could write off the fire as an accident, and maybe even claim insurance, if one of the few bureaus could pay the claim.

"So, I've got a car nearby, do you want a ride out of this hell-hole?" Hillodania asked, fingering her auburn hair as she patted the keys in her hip-huggers' pocket. "Not yet, I've got something left to do; someone left to see, an old friend," he replied, his hazel eyes saddened, but still clear. The wood-elf nodded, and beckoned to her friend, and his two bodyguards moved off to a side alley where he was sure her car waited. They would stay close to him, but not so close that they would arouse attention. A bounty hunter and a thief...the two of them would not have been welcome in the city in the past, and now they would only be barely tolerated. A dark elf with her beauty ruined, or at least altered, had never had a place here, and Drakana ran a huge risk staying.

"Not as much as me," he thought to himself, bemused, as he wondered what kind of punishment would be in store for him if his hand in the warehouse fire was discovered. Still, he could get out of town fairly quickly thanks to his friends, so long as he could drop off this bottle, and pick up the one friend still close enough to him to stay in the city. As he walked in the direction of the Green-bellied Delidgamond, he chuckled to himself and wondered, "Will Ocy still recognize me after all this time? It's been far too long since I stopped by in person." Then, he would get Nedra out of the brothel she ran, and the two of them could leave, finally. Then he could be with his fiancee.

The sun was all but set as he came around the corner and saw the sign to the bar.

[ 02-29-2004: Message edited by: Azrael Heavenblade ]

Letting the ambient bar noises fill in the silence, Karnaj sat complacently, occasionally nipping at the brandy in front of him. Before long, dinner was served. Among other things there was a thick, greasy stew, full of vegetables and strange meats and, as Karnaj took a steaming mouthful, quite a bit of cooking wine. He couldn't be bothered with what else was there. Shoveling the stew into his mouth was difficult enough, given the miasma of brandy in which he now sat. Still, he managed to get two bowls down, and, belly full, felt a great deal better than he had in a while.

"Ocy," he said, looking down the bar to her. She came over and leaned in to hear him over the din. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of cash, and slapped in on the bar. "Here."

"Don't want your money," she said with a smile. Then: "Well, I mean, everything's on the house tonight."

"Nononono..." he murmured. "It's not for that. I mean, you can make better use of this than I can. They'd just take it from me."

"Who?"

"ALLLLRIGHT, WHERE'S KARNAJ?" The voice was loud, abrasive, and powerful, and came from the door. Ocy looked up, and her eyes widened a little.

"The brutes," Karnaj said, not looking up. Taking one last shot of brandy, he turned slowly and stood. "I'm coming, I'm coming, fellas." To Zair, he said, "Don't even think about fighting the big one."

The brute was accompanied by five prairie dogs, all looking like they had had their asses kicked earlier in the day. They all looked stupendously pissed off, and the brute grabbed Karnaj roughly and the seven of them disappeared through the door and onto the dark street.

Sweeping his eyes around the room, Zexus looked for a suitable seat. The fight had emptied the place out a fair bit, and he spotted a seat at the end of the bar, with a clear view of the entrance. He proceeded there, taking care to step over any rodents who'd been too inebriated to actually exit the bar on their feet.

Beside him, a disheveled-looking man sat at the bar with a beer. Zexus just listened, as the conversation yielded both his and the bartender's names. Caid and Ocyrrhoe, he noted, before turning his attention towards others around the room. The sharp-toothed lady sat a few seats further down the bar, and seemed to know the bartender fairly well. He wondered briefly if Nicole wore makeup. The fighter and the beggar had taken a table together, away from the door. A few odds and ends sat around in various places. No one looked too dangerous, but looks could deceive. At the very least, they would cover his back if he covered theirs.

Finally, Zexus flagged the bartender, and awaited her approach. She was tending the brawler's table at the time, and seemed to be lingering there for a moment. This might be a while, he thought to himself, his eyes on Ocy across the room. Then in came one of the brutes. The hideous rodent, barely fitting itself through the doorway, bellowed out for the one called Karnaj, then approached the brawler's table and began dragging him away. "Then again..." Zexus said to nobody in particular, rising from his seat. As the rodents dragged the fighter out, Zexus made his way slowly to the doorway, and out behind them.

They dragged the man away into the nearby alley. As he approached, Zexus heard loud crunching noises, and wondered if the famous giant rodents truly could make such quick work of a man. The truth, however, proved far less convenient. The smaller rotund creatures ran screaming from the alleyway shortly before Zexus could turn the corner. The battered Karnaj braced himself against an alley wall, staring up in horror at a set of pointed teeth six feet around. How so many rodents could miss a fourteen-foot wyvern crossing the street, Zexus would never understand.

Still, after this, more brutes would surely come, this time for the runt. It was the kind of attention Zexus had hoped to avoid.

[ 02-29-2004: Message edited by: Zexus Alverhas ]

Crunching. Sickening sounds of bone and sinew being ripped apart. Crimson arcs sprayed everywhere, dousing Karnaj. Squealing, the sounds of scurrying feet. Then some eldritch horror in front of him, mouth wide open, ready to...

His alcohol-addled instincts kicked in, and he backed out of the alley, not taking his eyes off of the creature. So suprised was he when he bumped into someone that he didn't turn, but leaped and spun in the air, landing off-balanced and falling hard onto his ass.

Looking up at the stranger, he thought there was something vaguely familiar about him, like maybe he had seen him earlier. He was markedly calm, given that he had surely seen the beast in the alley. Slowly, the cogs began to turn, as he looked back and forth between the beast and the stranger. Unsure of himself, he carefully stood up and addressed the stranger.

"Just why is...who...what's going on?"

[ 02-29-2004: Message edited by: Ocyrrhoe Trazere ]

That was it. She was angry now - not only had the damned things riled things up again, the brute had also totalled her doorway with its giant frame. Abandoning her plate, she flew to the bar and retrieved a pack and rummaged through, looking for something... Finding them at the bottom - two daggers.

She went to the Goth at the bar, "Would you still like to help? It's been a long time since I've fought, so I'll no doubt need assistance."

Not waiting for an answer, she was out the door in a heartbeat, headed for the alley the brute had ducked into [as best a creature that size could 'duck']. She hoped she still had some of her old skills; she'd need every one now.

When she got outside, though, she noted that the smaller prairie dogs were fleeing the alleyway screaming - the brute was nowhere to be seen, along with Karnaj. She would deal with that in a moment, though - the prairie dogs needed to be dealt with - her temper was raging still and she needed an outlet.

The things were stupid enough to run in a group - Ocy leapt at them, catching two of them with her daggers as she did so - the one on her right side fell, clutching its tiny, bleeding chest, and the one to her left crumbled as Ocy's dagger clipped his legs out from under him.

The other three stopped almost immediately, glaring at her.

"It's the dame! She's gone frickin' crazy!" The 'leader' called to the ones who were still able to fight.

Ocy just grinned and beckoned for them to come.

A wyvern. Magic was extremely frowned upon, and pretty much anything other than mundane weapons and creatures were not allowed in plain view. Of course, that rule didn't prevent people from violating it, at least in secret. He saw Ocy leave the bar, carrying her daggers, and she too joined the fight, going after the smaller prairie dogs, preferring to leave the brute to the wyvern, who, at second glance, didn't appear wild. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw the man who had been leaning against another building had moved to calm down the dragon-like creature after it had disposed of the prairie dogs. "He better make sure it stays put this time..." he thought as he moved towards the door, returning his gun to its holster. Still, it reminded him of what he had stored in the back room of the bar, something he should probably retrieve before leaving today.

Pushing open the door, he was struck by how different the atmosphere was today, or maybe it was only different because he had been away for so long. The number of prairie dogs was much reduced than usual, and it seemed that people were genuinely having a good time for a change. There were two people at the bar, and he noticed that they were different customers than he remembered being her clientele. One man appeared to be little more than a bum, but then again, many people were thanks to the war of succession, and if he could pay, then he was getting what little relief from his misery he could. All the power to him. The other...he had not seen a Goth in ages, though he had covered the stories of their deaths, including the famous Redmage massacre. He had suspected they had gone in hiding, or were extinct, but here was one, obviously trying to hide her features, but not beaten down or frightened.

Stepping up to the bar, he pulled out the bottle of Stoli and placed it on the counter, deciding to wait until the barkeep returned. Most of the people in the bar were astonished at his prize, but by keeping a hand on it, he made sure it was going nowhere he didn't want it to. A glance told him that the back room was still closed and probably locked, he'd have to wait until Ocy got back so he could get in there.

Edit: Dangit, people updating when I'm typing...

[ 02-29-2004: Message edited by: Azrael Heavenblade ]

It was so unfair. Here he was enjoying the first meal he had had in a couple days, and those damned praire dogs had to return and ruin it. It seemed useless to resist them, because they just returned bigger and badder. How did that song go? "I fought the dogs and the dogs won" or something like that.

Suddenly he heard some shrill squeels from a source obviously not human, and it gave him a spark of courage. Maybe they were actually winning, and maybe it wasn't too late to join the fight. Zair took his steak knife and rose unsteadily to his feet. He made his way through the door and took in the scene outside. A fair distance ahead, the barkeep was making short work of the normal sized praire dogs. Karnaj was not immediatly visible, but Zair soon located him.

It was worse than he thought. The brute was dead, but Karnaj now faced something worse. Zair had no idea what it was, but it certainly posed more of a threat than the brute. In an unprecedented bout of bravery and stupidity, fueled mostly by alcohol, Zair rushed the beast with his steak knife.

[ 02-29-2004: Message edited by: Zair ]