FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Hey, guys. This is a fairly new story I've been working on for a bit. It's fanfiction of a certain game you may have heard of, Armello, which is a really creative online multiplayer tabletop-like game with furry characters. I didn't expect this story to develop like it did or end up running as long as it is. All characters property of their respective owners, etc.

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Goodbye

Would this be the last thing he felt?

The cold rain, near ice, running down his back. His knees hitting the mud. Rough, wet wood against his paws. His hat tumbled off, and his headfur began to grow wet too.

Behind him, the raccoon could hear the executioner hoisting his axe, limbering up. Trial swings, whiff, whoff. The hood meant he didn't know the identity, or even species, of the person about to end his life. He could read 'male' from the other's dim, rain-muted scent, guess 'canine' from the ears jutting out and the long, angled muzzle.

The afterlife, if indeed it existed, yawned before him. The gods, if indeed they exist, must surely be readying themselves, opening their arms to catch his falling spirit. If indeed it existed.

He was shaking, but not from the cold.

Then, he felt something hard and wet press into his back, press down. The executioner's boot. Forcing him down against the wood; his arms buckled like noodles; he felt splinters jab into his chin. A shameful sound escaped him, a half-sob, and not all of the water on his face was from the rain. Frantically, he searched his memory one last time, trying to call up every moment and feeling and thought, all the things that were about to be lost. He was full of fear, and few memories made it through the storm.

He didn't say any prayers. He didn't beg, or even wish that he could somehow be given another chance. What was the point? This was simply what was, as awful and terrifying as it might be. He had no recourse, but to kneel with his neck pressed against the tree stump, and wait. Wait for it all to end.

As his last act, Kazik closed his eyes. Slowly. Letting his sight linger on the glistening tree roots, on the shrubs and thickets at the edge of the forest. Then it was black, just like going to sleep. He heard the executioner bracing himself, heard him grunt as he raised the axe one more time. Then, he blocked out sound, as well.

Goodbye, he thought to himself.

And then...

Charmed

Although not particularly disposed to chain mail himself, Mercurio had a working understanding of its particular hindrances. Heavy, mostly, despite its flexibility, and generally weak under the arms and in the groin. As his saber was a long, thin weapon designed primarily for thrusting, it was a matter of some necessity that he knew where to strike, and from what angle, rather than blindly swinging as one might with a longsword, hoping to tear the mail or crush the bones which lay under it.

The guard yelled rather louder than he'd expected when the blade emerged from the near side of his neck; Mercurio gave the sword a good hard yank from under his arm, and then another, to free it. The bull's knees buckled; his paw fumbled about his side; he fell, howling and gurgling. The rat straightened up with a flourish, leveled his saber, sighted, and then met the other guard's shortsword with a clang. The crocodile was not ready, drawing his sword and swinging blindly, and the firmness of the rat's stance knocked his grip half-loose. Before he could either drop the blade or regain that grip, Mercurio brought the sword down hard on his leather glove, feeling the steel meet bone. He slashed twice as the reptile stumbled back, only pricking his opponent's collarbones, and then caught the side of his head, opening a deep gash running up the side of his neck and face. Blood sprayed.

In the five-odd seconds it had taken to send the two guards to the ground, there had been a minor panic. On account of the rain and the victim's lack of notoriety, it was not a well-attended execution; Mercurio had seen no civilians, and only two officials huddled under the ramparts of the keep. One was now halfway up the steps, yelling something; the rat let him go. The other was nowhere to be seen.

That left the executioner, who had flinched when he burst out of the bushes, nearly dropping his axe. Mercurio turned his gaze, fixing a hard look on the other; he watched the faltering canine steady himself. The rat's eyes hardened.

He met the axe on the downstroke, knocking it off its path, but from the wrong angle; it came down and sunk into the tree stump, and the bedraggled shape on that stump screamed. Hoping he hadn't just consigned someone to a long, excruciating death rather than a quick, comparatively painless one, Mercurio grimaced and stumbled against the axe, backing up to realign his arm. The executioner gave a good tug on the axe, realized it was wedged in the stump, and then let go. He backed away, eyes wide with fear in his hood, and then turned to run.

Mercurio cut him down.

Blood running down his sword, he turned back. The crocodile guard had stumbled away somewhere to die, the bull was on his back in the mud, squirming feebly and struggling to breathe through the blood in his lungs. The individual he'd just narrowly saved from being beheaded was on his knees again, holding the side of his head. The rat rushed forward. Up close, he could register a raccoon, likely male, eyes wild, a river of blood running down the side of his face. Mercurio felt sick. He tried to pull the raccoon's paws away from his face, but the young man was having none of it; he was sobbing and holding himself as though afraid his brains might fall out.

Not entirely certain that wasn't indeed the case, Mercurio chose instead to inspect the axe, and immediately sighed in relief. Lying on the stump were approximately three inches of gray fur, a flap of scalp, and one pointed ear; the axe itself was largely clean on the opposite side. Agonizing, no doubt, and bloody, but the rat knew what a skull injury looked like. There would have been bone fragments, at a minimum.

He turned back to the raccoon, who was crying loudly, and gripped him by the shoulders. "Hey, hey! You are alright! Calm down. You are alright."

"I... what... who... Aaah, my, my head!"

"It is just a little cut," the rat said soothingly. "You are not badly hurt. The axe only nicked you. Now come, we must go." He pulled.

"There's... So much blood..." the raccoon choked out, sobbing. Mercurio allowed he probably wasn't in the most rational frame of mind.

"When your scalp is cut, it bleeds a great deal, even from a small wound. It must be tended to, but not here." Patiently, he pulled on the raccoon's arm again, but he wasn't budging. "Hear that sound? That's the guards on the ramparts shouting. In about fifteen seconds they will begin firing arrows. Would you like to be here when that happens?"

The raccoon stared at him blankly, stumbled to his feet. Mercurio dragged him along, and they vanished into the forest.

Sutures

"We are lucky for the rain," the strange rat said. "Sit down."

Stumbling to a halt, Kazik collapsed at the base of the nearest tree; they'd been sprinting through the forest for longer than he was able to judge. His entire body ached; he had roughly fifteen cramps; the side of his head was aflame.

I'm alive.

I'm alive.

"I must stop your bleeding now, or you will not survive the night," the rat was saying calmly, rapidly taking things from his belt. He moved with ease and precision, a sort of dexterity the raccoon had never seen before, even in the near-blackness of the stormy forest. "Hold still."

I'm alive.

After a moment, there was a crackling, a sputtering, and then orange light flared to his left. Kazik glanced, squinted; a powder torch. It hissed and flickered in the rain, throwing off sparks. He looked down at himself, and was momentarily shocked to see his shirt, trousers, even his boots were literally_covered_ with blood on the left side.

"Quite the haircut you have," the rat said, mirth in his voice.

The raccoon swallowed and supposed if his rescuer could joke about it, it couldn't be all that bad. "Is... is... it bleeding still?" he croaked.

"I am afraid so," the rat said. "I am sorry to say that you have lost your ear, or at least the outer part of it, right down to the skull. There will be quite a scar."

Oh. Kazik suddenly placed the dim, slightly muffled character of the rat's voice. "I've always liked hats," he mumbled, half to himself.

The rat chuckled. "That is the spirit," he replied, before the humor left his voice. "I am very sorry for this, young one."

Before he knew it, the rat's left paw closed around Kazik's muzzle, and with a shove, the rodent tackled him to the ground. Blinding pain erupted from the side of his head; he thrashed, nose in the mud, and the rat held his mouth shut so he could not scream. From his good ear, he heard the crackling of the powder torch, which was very loud and squealing, much like how it sounded when one started a campfire with one by pressing it to the wood. He smelled a new smell, sharp, dark, nauseating. Burning flesh.

The pain receded to a raw, throbbing ache. He stopped struggling, and then the rat let go. Kazik gasped and panted and cried into the mud.

"I have stopped the bleeding," the rat said, voice subdued. A moment later, the powder torch went out; he must have put it back in its airtight cask. "Sit up. I will bandage you."

The raccoon struggled back to a sitting position, sniffling and wiping his eyes on his rain-soaked sleeve. Now he was shivering from the cold. The rat was rummaging in his small pack. A crackling sound came from his paws, as he mashed something up in them.

"This will keep the wound from festering."

He smelled... Wyld weed? Surely not, the plant was so rare... Though his head was aching, he barely felt when the salve was spread over it. Then the rat was rapidly winding a length of damp cotton under his chin, and around his skull.

"I am afraid that will have to do for now," the rat said. "We must keep moving. You will not bleed out. Now we must concern ourselves with our pursuers. I will bandage you properly when we are safe."

Kazik struggled to his feet, wavered, leaned on the arm the rat offered him. He looked into the darkness, the dim space where the rat's face must be. "Thank you," he mumbled. "For... for all of this... I don't understand..."

"We must hurry," the rat said, pulling him into a run again.

Guardian

It was just past dawn when the rat finally lead them into a chasm in the mountain. Well under the overhanging lip, in an alcove at the mouth of a deeper passage, Mercurio pointed toward the far inner wall. "Rest," he said.

The raccoon collapsed, in as literal a sense as one could. Mercurio positioned himself at the opening of the alcove, divesting himself of his pack, stretching out his aching legs, and finally drawing his sword to clean it. The rain had broken soon before the sky began to grow light, and their clothes, though soaked, had begun to approach a more tolerable level of dampness. The raccoon had even stopped shivering quite so badly.

After several moments, Mercurio heard a voice that was still fairly unfamiliar. Hoarse, light, exhausted. "You saved my life."

"Indeed," the rat said with a smile, not looking at him. "And now you may enjoy all the wonderful experiences that life has to offer, chief among them: sleep."

"I can't just sleep after... all that... who... who are you? You're not from any village I've ever heard of, not with that accent."

"Indeed I am not," the rat said. "I am from the south, far south."

"The rat clan lands?"

"Those do lie to the south." He winked.

"Why... why are you here? Why did you save me?"

"Simple questions with complex answers. Suffice it to say that I am on a journey, and that I happened to be in the area when you were to be executed."

"Why rescue me, though?"

"You might call it a whim... or perhaps a desire to maintain my karma," the rat chuckled, gently massaging the dried blood on his sword with a polishing rag. "It was not my plan, I assure you, but I found I could not stand there and watch your death." His voice grew quiet and somber. "I... simply could not do it."

"I was lucky you happened along, then."

"Yes, and we were both fortunate that it was a dark, moonless, stormy night. Even then, we might easily have been caught."

"We must both be wanted men, now..." the raccoon said quietly.

"I am certain that I am, though I doubt any survivor of your execution party got a particularly good look at me. Besides yourself, of course." The rat waved in his direction. "Now, you must sleep. You are injured and exhausted. I will keep watch; you will be safe here."

"What about my ear?"

"I will tend to it when you awaken, as well as procuring some food; I am certain you are at least as hungry as I am. But you must rest. You will need your strength to cross the mountains tonight, for every hour we do not, our chances of recapture increase."

"What about you, aren't you tired?"

Mercurio smirked. "I am always tired, but my work never ends. Do not worry about me, I am used to long nights and longer days."

The raccoon was quiet, then, and as the rat expected, he was deeply asleep within five minutes. Mercurio whistled a quiet tune to himself as he finished up with his sword, to be certain, and then left the raccoon to his rest. He had no intention of abandoning the young man's safety, but given the rather hasty nature in which he'd needed to leave town, securing at least one solid meal for them both was an immediate necessity. The raccoon was well out of sight from the trail; the cave itself was difficult to discern as more than an outcropping. He would be fine.

When the rat ventured up out of the chasm, the first shaft of sunlight grazed his fur, and he flinched. "Oh curses... !"

He stumbled, and then collapsed to his knees; breathing raggedly, he clutched at the side of his chest, wheezing profanity in his native tongue. Slowly, his vision stabilized; the pain in his abdomen receded. He fumbled at his belt, but his pouch was empty save for the bottle; he'd given the last of his Wyld weed to the raccoon the night before.

Mercurio gave himself a minute, but a minute turned into two, and then five, and then ten. Finally, he staggered to his feet, nearly falling. He gasped for air, swallowed dryly. Brow set, he stumbled onward, down the mountain once more.

Intimacy

"Hey."

Kazik's eyes were filmy when he opened them, he blinked and blinked again.

Someone stopped shaking his shoulder. "Eat this. Careful, it is hot."

He found a broad leaf wrapping some sort of filling pressed into his paws, and had to gingerly shuffle it around and hold it by the tips of his claws. "What is it?"

"Pheasant, mostly. Some roots. I would trade my mother for some salt."

The rat was eating too, he saw, so the raccoon set into what he decided to describe as a meat pie. Bland, as the rat suggested, but filling, and he was starving from the moment it touched his lips. There were two more atop a flat stone, from which came the familiar (and slightly appetite-hindering) crackling of the powder torch. His ear stump was throbbing madly. He watched the rat scoop the third pie off the stone with the tip of his sword.

"Who are you?" he found himself asking. "I still don't know."

"I am a travelling minstrel, of course," the rat chuckled, carefully shuffling the pie off onto a rock.

Kazik regarded him. "No. You're not."

The rat glanced at him with mirth. "It was worth a try, I suppose." He tilted his head, considering. Seeming to come to a decision, he swept his blade across in a deep bow. "I am called Mercurio," he said. "It is possible you have heard of me, but I think it unlikely in this region."

The raccoon furrowed his brow as he bit into his food. A couple delirious observations from the night and morning before came together; he noted the rat's rich red cloak and fine linen shirt. "You're a nobleman," he said. "That much I can tell. Your clothing, and your combat skill, are not common fare."

"Indeed; you are as observant as you are endearing," the rat said. "I ask your pardon if I do not introduce myself properly, or explain my business in this part of the country, given our current... predicament." His eyes glinted. "If we are captured, it is better for us both that you claim I took you hostage. A hostage would not be told who his captor was in full."

"I understand," the raccoon replied, taking another bite.

"And you, young one? What are you called?"

"I go by Kazik." The raccoon hesitated. "Full name's Kazimierz, but I don't expect a southerner to go spitting that out all day."

"Kazimierz," Mercurio said quietly, slowly, doing a reasonable job of it. "Such splendid names they have in this part of Armello. A delight to the tongue."

The raccoon chuckled, not himself of the opinion that his name warranted any particular praise. "How late did I sleep?"

"It is past noon, if that is your inquiry. Well past, I should suppose. The sun grows low."

"You must be exhausted. You've been awake a full day."

The rat waved at him dismissively. "I am fine, do not concern yourself; I dozed while you were asleep. We shall cross the mountains tonight, and on the far side we can find somewhere safe and set up a proper camp. I will rest there."

Kazik chewed his meat thoughtfully. "You know, I might be able to help with that. These mountains are a mining region, particularly the northern face. I happen to be acquainted with a couple of the miners, met them in taverns a time or two. Perhaps we could seek shelter there."

The rat eyed him. "Ah... I am not certain that would be the best idea."

The two regarded each other for a moment, evaluating, judging.

"Well, the more information you have, the better equipped you'll be to make any decisions," Kazik said, with a shrug and a glance back to the other meat pie. Mercurio saw, and passed it to him on the tip of his sword. "I know little of the land beyond the mountains."

"I thank you for your forthrightness," the rat said, sounding almost ashamed. "I have never been to this region."

"It's somewhat new to me as well," the raccoon replied. "I grew up in Sprucevale. Been here a couple years, though. It's where the work is."

"Sprucevale, isn't that..." The rat was looking at him keenly, now.

"The ruin where a town once lay, to the west? Yes." The raccoon looked down glumly.

"I... do hope... none of your family or friends remained there, when the Bane came."

"No one of consequence."

"Your family is elsewhere, or perhaps managed to escape?"

"No one of consequence," Kazik repeated, somewhat more darkly. He bit into the meat pie.

The rat was silent for a moment, gaining a slow, morbid smirk. "I understand your meaning completely." He hesitated. "It is a dark period for the kingdom."

"Mm. Not much we can do about it, though."

The rat gave him a strange look, and seemed to shake his head when Kazik spoke again.

"If it's my business... And I'm not sure it is, mind you... Once we cross the mountains, what then?"

Mercurio's eyes settled on him once more, and the rat slowly leaned back against the rock, grinning wryly. "Well, unless I misconstrue your agency, what you shall do shall be up to you, shall it not?"

"I... don't feel it is up to me..." Kazik said hesitantly. "You... you saved my life. You didn't have to. By your words, you didn't even have much of a reason. You're just that kind of person. I owe you a debt I may never be able to repay; there's no price on what you've given me. My life ended back there on that tree stump. This is a new life, a different life. A life you gave me. If you'll have it, I would travel with you and be of service to you somehow. It's the only action I could possibly take."

The rat's eyes were soft; he had a very different smile on his face now. "That is an honorable sentiment. And not one I expected to hear, I must admit."

"I suppose I am a commoner, and a criminal at that," the raccoon said, looking down.

"I suppose you are," Mercurio replied. "If it is_my_ business, I must confess I am curious... what was your crime?"

The raccoon met his eyes, looked away. "Treason," he said quietly.

"Indeed?" the rat rumbled; his eyes gleamed. "Of what nature?"

Another short glance. "I'm afraid that is... not your business." He hesitated, guilt weighing on him; the rat had saved his life,everything was now his business. "Treason of... of the nature that one is executed for."

"I suppose that says plenty," the rat replied. "Have no fear. There is no crime you could have committed, that would cause me to regret my choice. I am, after all, a thief, conspirator, and murderer. And a host of other such titles I won't bore you with." He seemed faintly proud of himself.

"If you are all those things, I believe you must have had good reasons for them," the raccoon replied. "You are not a bad man. Bad men do not risk their own lives to save that of a stranger without even knowing his crime."

"I... appreciate your saying so," the rat replied, seeming embarrassed once more. "I think I should like to have you as a traveling companion. If you are not comfortable with my actions, you may leave; I will not stop or pursue you. And I will not ask you to participate in anything you would find dishonorable."

"I only hope I can be of some use to you," the raccoon replied. "Most of my work has been as a forester, hardly useful to someone on the move. I spent a year as a blacksmith's apprentice, but I'm not half good enough to work on equipment of your quality. There's a reason I left the trade; I'd as likely ruin your blade as mend it."

"I am certain you will be an asset. Are you able to fight? My near proximity does tend to be somewhat... dramatic." He chuckled.

Kazik shook his head. "Street fighting, I guess, nothing like your form. I had a knife; they took it from me when I was imprisoned."

"Mm. We shall have to find you a suitable replacement. Perhaps I could teach you a thing or two, when there is time." The rat looked toward the entrance to the cave, and lifted his pack, digging in it once more. "We had best be going soon. I want to be moving when dusk falls. May I have another look at your ear?"

Blizzard

By the time it was full dark, they were making a hard pace up the mountain. Having seen no signs of pursuit, Mercurio had begun to doubt a street rat (in either meaning) warranted recapture, and indeed that his own actions last night had been connected to the escape. However, as the sun set, he began to discern torchlight further down, from each outcropping and minor peak that they scaled. They were not the only party making their way up the mountain.

With greater haste, they began to move into colder air; the wind picked up, and before long, there was snow on the ground. Mercurio's cloak was warm and thick enough to resist the brunt of the wind, but the raccoon was not dressed for this sort of weather, and began shivering again. Unlike the night before, however, Mercurio could not trust to their movement to keep him going, not if it grew cold enough to risk frostbite. A fine deed it would be, to rescue Kazik from beheading, and then consign him to gangrene. And yet, they could not risk stopping; the enemy was at their backs.

Mercurio knew what he must do.

Abruptly, he pulled the raccoon aside, into a crevice in the rock face, and shucked off his pack. "You must put this on," he said; the wind made his cloak ripple and slash the air when it was pulled from his shoulders.

"What -- No, I'm fine, I don't need... You need that -- "

"Indeed, I shall need it, if I want to watch you freeze to death in comfort. Do not argue. I will be fine. You are wounded and are not used to these climes." He buckled the cloak around the raccoon's neck.

"You're hardly a wolf yourself," Kazik said, eyes gleaming sharply. "Your homeland is swamps and mosquitos."

"I will save my offense for a less dire moment," Mercurio snapped. "You must wait here. I will return for you in a moment.Wait here."

His agitation must have made some kind of impression on the raccoon, for Kazik withheld any further questions, though he gave the rat a dubious look as he huddled against the mountain. Shivering already in his linen shirt, Mercurio turned and began walking down the path, further up the mountain, around the rock outcropping. He tried to monitor the path behind him, to be sure the raccoon wasn't trying to follow, but it was too difficult with the growing wind.

When he was far enough away, he dropped back against the face of the mountain, to get out of the freezing gusts of air slicing through his thin shirt. No choice; there was no way both of them would make it over the mountain in this. At least, not fast enough to avoid the risk of being recaptured, the both of them. They had to cover a great deal of rough terrain tonight, and nothing, not exposure, not a blizzard, not nearing forty-eight hours of wakefulness could delay them.

Trembling, Mercurio reached for the pouch at his belt. This was not going to be pleasant.

The wine hit him like a punch in the chest -- it did not wind him, rather it felt as though a massive fist had slammed square into his sternum. His heart skipped a beat, then several more, fluttered, slogged back to a shaky rhythm. He staggered, pain and heat radiating from his stomach outward, swallow, swallow, swallow, there. He gasped for air, tossing the flask aside; nausea erupted within him, but he had to keep it down --

Mercurio held his own muzzle shut, much as he had done to the raccoon last night. His knees hit the ground; he tasted the wine again, and swallowed, retched, and swallowed. The sensation of heat was growing stronger. After five or six times down, the wine stayed down, and his nausea subsided slowly; he let go of his muzzle and coughed. When he pulled his paw away, it was glowing, a deep violet.

For a moment, the rat panicked; Kazik would see that, he would know... but the glow was fading, deepening, spreading, and Mercurio knew the black marks on his skin would not be readily visible under his fur, at least not until it started falling out. The heat was blazing in him now, the cold was melting away; alertness returned to him, and his eyes grew clear and focused and falcon-sharp. Shakily, he climbed to his feet, gave himself another moment. All his joints were aching, but he could push past that, he could push past anything now. His strength grew and grew. Inhaling deeply, he checked his paw again; it was barely noticeable. He set off back down the mountain.

The raccoon was right where he'd been left, huddled into the crevice, shaking. Mercurio walked right up to him without drawing a glance; he saw Kazik jump when he spoke. "Come. We must go."

The raccoon looked at him; Mercurio looked away quickly. The eyes would betray you, he knew, if one had enough time to study them, and he doubted the effect would be so subtle at this stage. "Where did you go?" the raccoon said, following him.

"The ethereal plane," Mercurio said seriously. The look he got in return made him wince; he supposed now wasn't really the time for witticism. "I needed to scout ahead and see which trail would be best to take. I know the one."

They forged onward, Mercurio leading the way, charging into the icy wind as though he did not even feel it (for in truth, he did not). Kazik struggled to keep up, so fast was he moving; the rat had to slow himself, and occasionally encourage his companion onward. The further they went, the worse the weather grew; snowfall began, and it grew harder and harder to see. Kazik wrapped himself up in the rat's cloak, until only his little black eyes were peeking out, and these lanced out at the rat whenever he turned back to check. Mercurio soldiered on, growing more aware by the hour that the raccoon mistrusted him.Perhaps not without reason, he thought. He's smart enough to realize this is not natural. But he was certain that they would not have made it any other way. As it was, Kazik could barely keep up.

The snow grew so deep in places that they could hardly walk, and Mercurio began to nervously watch for extended faces, and skirt them. Nothing he drank would keep him marching through an avalanche. As the hours dragged on, however, he became positive they were out of reach of the pursuing guards, who would surely not be crazy enough to cross the mountain in this, and likely wouldn't make it through the pass for several more days, even supposing they did pursue the escapees that far.

The aching all through his body was growing stronger, and before long, Mercurio felt the fire within him stabilize, and then start to wane. He picked up the pace, and began urging the raccoon onward more insistently. It wouldn't do to come down from the high while they were still in the middle of a blizzard, not with his current physical state. He had to get through the pass (goodness, how long could it be? Were they on their way down yet?) and far enough down the other side. Or they would likely both die.

Another hour passed. His vision began to blur, and his knees in particular were on fire. Kazik was no longer struggling to keep up. Another hour. The sky was starting to grow a dim blue color. He was finding it hard to breathe, and he was the one struggling, now. The wind had lessened considerably, and the snow was not as deep; Kazik was walking beside him, no longer holding the cloak to his face. "Come on," he said, tentatively, paw on Mercurio's shoulder. "We're almost there."

Mercurio began to lose track of time. He was stumbling over rocks, his eyes were weighted with lead. He could feel the cold, deep and bone-chilling, though he knew it was nothing like what he'd been walking through before. Every bone in his body ached. The fire dwindled into a raw, burning feeling, as though he'd been scorched on the inside.

Then... his eyes came open abruptly, sweeping blearily over evergreens and bare ground; the sky was bright and icy blue-white clouds. Kazik was looking at him, hood back and red cloak open, and then the raccoon was standing over him, kneeling, asking what was wrong. Mercurio was panting, teeth set, feeling as though a red-hot poker had gutted him, driving up into his chest. What, why, this shouldn't be happening...

Sunlight, gleaming over the far-off pines. Dawn.

The rat realized then, that he'd miscalculated. Under pressure, he'd done the quick thing, the aggressive thing, instead of stopping to consider his options, think about his position.

Now it was dawn, and there was a price for his choices. And after a day with no rest, a night with worse, and the aching within him from that vile concoction... Mercurio began to doubt he was healthy enough to pay it.

He'd screwed up.

Even as the pain grew unbearable, the rat did not allow himself to scream. The risk of someone overhearing him, finding Kazik, was too great. He'd gone through so much, to keep that damn raccoon alive... maybe, for some purpose his mortal mind could not yet fathom, it would be worth it. His eyes fixed on Kazik's face, out of focus before him, as his vision dimmed and faded.

---

If you're curious, I can give a blow-by-blow of what this sequence of events would actually look like in-game, but I'd sum up like this -- Kazik, and his starting predicament, are of course based off of the Beheaded card. Mercurio, I think, was doing some quest in the city just prior to that card being "played". Mercurio starts the story with 1 Rot and 3 Health (must have fought somebody to get to that quest), and that night, crosses a forest and a plains tile (probably moved onto the city from somewhere else). He skips the next day (when do the characters actually sleep in-game, anyway?), losing 1 Health in the morning due to being infected, and then crosses two mountain tiles the next night, with the aid of a Hot Rot Wine that drops his Health to 1 and increases his Rot to 2). Then, of course, the next morning his Health drops to 0 from the infection.

I'm a fucking nerd.