Commissioned from FortunataFox
Hazul Lefer consults the spirits, and they tell him to prepare for war
---
Two otters, garbed in black rags and covered in vermin tattoos across their bodies were silently and efficiently setting up their master’s table. Not too long ago, they had been soldiers in Noonvale’s large otter Holt, descendents of Keyla of Marshank. Their mother told them tall tales of their ancestor’s bravery and trickery, filling them with confidence to join up in Noonvale’s guard. Now, they got to see the first hand cruelty of vermin and their tyranny. One of the otters, a shorter and more lean otter named Bagon winged in pain and dropped some plates. He looked at his paw, with a crooked and deep gash which had been spurning out blood not too long ago.
“It still hurts, eh?”
“Aye. These vermin give me the creeps, ya know. Jumpin at ghosts an’ ghouls! What did ya think they wanted our blood for?”
“Ya know, cause were ‘Descendents of dem’ heroes’ or somethin to do with Martin the Warrior.” The older and larger otter, a brother named Burnel came over and tore off a part of his rags and began bandaging it up. “Ya see any means of escape?”
“Nay.”
The two were in Veekun’s Burrow, the motte and bailey castle was the home to a group of mouse nobles and warriors who had been building up a presence in eastern Mossflower. That had changed when the water rats under Hazul Leffer came from the east sea and took the keep for themselves, murdering the entire family, with Markem’s bloody paws all over the dark deed. The settlement became a gloomy shadow of its former self, as the tribe was ruled by the fanatic chieftain. Hazul had taken up a particular name for himself, Hazul the Sorcerer. The rat may have been a runt of his tribe, but all in the settlement lived in fear of him. The two otters were humbly cleaning up the hall for Hazul’s arrival, who had introduced them as his new servants. Both lived in mortal fear of the rat, and for good reason, as the bones of slain woodlanders were scattered around as symbols, with Hazul’s belt of mouse skulls hanging over a fireplace. It was one of many morbid lucky charms.
Hazul himself along with his host of water rats and captains entered the hall. He snapped at the otters, ordering them to leave, and they obeyed without question. Hazul gashed their paws with blood and performed the sacred rites, his chief shaman and witch, a black fox named Dala Blackeye. The Blackfox’s began her routine, pelting salt pieces onto the table.
“My lord, the spirits of the Burrow shall not disturb you during this meeting. Shall I prepare the bones an’ sticks for the spirits blessing?”
“Yes, and do so quickly. We have much to discuss about this ‘Great Vermin Band’.”
Hazul sat down comfortably in a central chair, while his captains and elite soldiers of the Barrow Guard stood at attention. Hazul’s brother Kajam gave a cruel smile.
“My brother, clansbeasts! Captains an’ warriors all! The seasons have been merciful to us, as Markem readies his horde for war! Chieftain, I shall be ready to gather the whole of the clan at your command.”
“Nay, not until the whole clan agrees to war itself, brother.” Hazul was deep in thought. He knew all full well that challenging the badger lords was a difficult and dangerous task, and the campaign could go very wrong. Yet, he was sworn by an oath he made with Markem. They were not only allies by the hollow words between fellow rats, but bound by an oath to the very seasons themselves. Markem had negotiated that deal with the aid of Scarl. The two were bound now, and when Markem had called for a uniting of all his allies and vassals into a single entity, Hazul readily agreed. He was no loyalist to Markem, but the rat had a power, and he was convinced something divine watched over him. His brother Kajam however, had served partly in Markem’s horde, and returned a more experienced creature. He was more than ready to serve the brown clattered horde.
“This is a clan matter, and the seasons are kind to us.” The rats were hesitant.
“Markem will lead the horde straight into a trap, like Pelg’s horde did!”
“The brown rat be smart, a strange one, but smart. We should join our spears with his!”
“Nay! This be not our war! Let the rotten one rot!”
“He gave us a home, let us repay his kindness with our blood!”
The clamor grew louder as Kajam unsheathed his sword and slammed it into the table, cracking it in half. He angry spat at the rats “Nay! No more clan matters! We put this decision to the spirits!”
“I agree. We cannot go without the spirit’s blessing anyway. Dala! Bring the herbs, and you lot. Fetch the sacred wood!”
Dala did as her lord commanded and took out several veils of richly hewn glass. The rats brought runed logs of wood and threw into a central fire pit as the others began to put out the torch light in the grim hall. The whole area went dark as the rats watched closely. Dala threw three veils into the central fire pit, the last one lighting up with a blue flame which arose in the room. The fire smelled terrible, but Hazul began to give a low gutteral chant as he watched on with religious fervor. Dala danced around the flame, the water rats struggling to not contain their fright and admiration. Dala stopped, shifted her eyes up and spoke with a strange voice.
“The spirits Hazul. The spirits from the beyond speak to me!”
“What do they say! What do they demand of the tribe! Speak!” Hazul demanded
“You must go to war. You must aid Markem Brownnose. Find the Sword for which goodbeast hides in the red walled keep, an’ claim it as your own! Find the shining star of metal yewn, a great power lies within for you to take oh rat! Oh sorcerer! Or king of Veekun’s Burrow! Bring out your armies, join them to the brown clad horde!” The puffs of the blue flame disappeared as the rats looked on with awe. Hazul closed his eyes, letting out a muffled prayer as darkness enshrouded the room.
Hazul Lefer consults the spirits, and they tell him to prepare for war
---
Two otters, garbed in black rags and covered in vermin tattoos across their bodies were silently and efficiently setting up their master’s table. Not too long ago, they had been soldiers in Noonvale’s large otter Holt, descendents of Keyla of Marshank. Their mother told them tall tales of their ancestor’s bravery and trickery, filling them with confidence to join up in Noonvale’s guard. Now, they got to see the first hand cruelty of vermin and their tyranny. One of the otters, a shorter and more lean otter named Bagon winged in pain and dropped some plates. He looked at his paw, with a crooked and deep gash which had been spurning out blood not too long ago.
“It still hurts, eh?”
“Aye. These vermin give me the creeps, ya know. Jumpin at ghosts an’ ghouls! What did ya think they wanted our blood for?”
“Ya know, cause were ‘Descendents of dem’ heroes’ or somethin to do with Martin the Warrior.” The older and larger otter, a brother named Burnel came over and tore off a part of his rags and began bandaging it up. “Ya see any means of escape?”
“Nay.”
The two were in Veekun’s Burrow, the motte and bailey castle was the home to a group of mouse nobles and warriors who had been building up a presence in eastern Mossflower. That had changed when the water rats under Hazul Leffer came from the east sea and took the keep for themselves, murdering the entire family, with Markem’s bloody paws all over the dark deed. The settlement became a gloomy shadow of its former self, as the tribe was ruled by the fanatic chieftain. Hazul had taken up a particular name for himself, Hazul the Sorcerer. The rat may have been a runt of his tribe, but all in the settlement lived in fear of him. The two otters were humbly cleaning up the hall for Hazul’s arrival, who had introduced them as his new servants. Both lived in mortal fear of the rat, and for good reason, as the bones of slain woodlanders were scattered around as symbols, with Hazul’s belt of mouse skulls hanging over a fireplace. It was one of many morbid lucky charms.
Hazul himself along with his host of water rats and captains entered the hall. He snapped at the otters, ordering them to leave, and they obeyed without question. Hazul gashed their paws with blood and performed the sacred rites, his chief shaman and witch, a black fox named Dala Blackeye. The Blackfox’s began her routine, pelting salt pieces onto the table.
“My lord, the spirits of the Burrow shall not disturb you during this meeting. Shall I prepare the bones an’ sticks for the spirits blessing?”
“Yes, and do so quickly. We have much to discuss about this ‘Great Vermin Band’.”
Hazul sat down comfortably in a central chair, while his captains and elite soldiers of the Barrow Guard stood at attention. Hazul’s brother Kajam gave a cruel smile.
“My brother, clansbeasts! Captains an’ warriors all! The seasons have been merciful to us, as Markem readies his horde for war! Chieftain, I shall be ready to gather the whole of the clan at your command.”
“Nay, not until the whole clan agrees to war itself, brother.” Hazul was deep in thought. He knew all full well that challenging the badger lords was a difficult and dangerous task, and the campaign could go very wrong. Yet, he was sworn by an oath he made with Markem. They were not only allies by the hollow words between fellow rats, but bound by an oath to the very seasons themselves. Markem had negotiated that deal with the aid of Scarl. The two were bound now, and when Markem had called for a uniting of all his allies and vassals into a single entity, Hazul readily agreed. He was no loyalist to Markem, but the rat had a power, and he was convinced something divine watched over him. His brother Kajam however, had served partly in Markem’s horde, and returned a more experienced creature. He was more than ready to serve the brown clattered horde.
“This is a clan matter, and the seasons are kind to us.” The rats were hesitant.
“Markem will lead the horde straight into a trap, like Pelg’s horde did!”
“The brown rat be smart, a strange one, but smart. We should join our spears with his!”
“Nay! This be not our war! Let the rotten one rot!”
“He gave us a home, let us repay his kindness with our blood!”
The clamor grew louder as Kajam unsheathed his sword and slammed it into the table, cracking it in half. He angry spat at the rats “Nay! No more clan matters! We put this decision to the spirits!”
“I agree. We cannot go without the spirit’s blessing anyway. Dala! Bring the herbs, and you lot. Fetch the sacred wood!”
Dala did as her lord commanded and took out several veils of richly hewn glass. The rats brought runed logs of wood and threw into a central fire pit as the others began to put out the torch light in the grim hall. The whole area went dark as the rats watched closely. Dala threw three veils into the central fire pit, the last one lighting up with a blue flame which arose in the room. The fire smelled terrible, but Hazul began to give a low gutteral chant as he watched on with religious fervor. Dala danced around the flame, the water rats struggling to not contain their fright and admiration. Dala stopped, shifted her eyes up and spoke with a strange voice.
“The spirits Hazul. The spirits from the beyond speak to me!”
“What do they say! What do they demand of the tribe! Speak!” Hazul demanded
“You must go to war. You must aid Markem Brownnose. Find the Sword for which goodbeast hides in the red walled keep, an’ claim it as your own! Find the shining star of metal yewn, a great power lies within for you to take oh rat! Oh sorcerer! Or king of Veekun’s Burrow! Bring out your armies, join them to the brown clad horde!” The puffs of the blue flame disappeared as the rats looked on with awe. Hazul closed his eyes, letting out a muffled prayer as darkness enshrouded the room.
Category All / Fantasy
Species Unspecified / Any
Gender Any
Size 2217 x 1662px
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