FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Tranquil Waters: The Lead Crown Ch 10.3, Mechanations

Friar Arlowe was neither a classically trained healer nor was he educated in the ways of medical practices at the UPU. He had always been in the possession of a nurturing disposition and, if nothing else, he meant well. Despite his predisposition to caretaking the wounds he tended while attempting to help the injured at the Cathedral were far beyond his capabilities and he knew it. Sadly, he very quickly realized, this was true of most of the healers present. Despite being overwhelmed the Raccoon Dog resolved to do as much good as he possibly could.

Friar Juun was there with them providing insight and aid. The Monkey had been trained as a Monk long before Arlowe himself and during the Raccoon Dog's time at the monastery Friar Juun acted as a guide and mentor; it seemed he was returning to the same position so many years later. It was comforting in a way to have pieces of his past to hold onto-- Cruff from his time as a family man and Friar Juun from his time as a Monk Initiate. Those constants helped him maintain his calm since the present was pulled apart as his group disbanded.

The Monk had asked Sir Umberto to stay because the wolverine was still injured from the skirmish in the catacombs but the Templar was unrelenting; he had refused to sit idly while the Inquisitors remained in control. Along with him went Brody, who was apparently resolved to continue acting as squire and manservant for the bull-headed Templar. What was even less reassuring was that the Prong Horn scholar went with them as well.

Tobias had originally planned on staying but as soon as Arlowe saw Gustave and received confirmation that the Prong Horn's brother was in the Cathedral he had no doubt that aid for the wounded would be left to himself and Cruff. Despite the number of people devoted to caring for the battle injuries it was rapidly apparent that any extra paws would be welcome; war was not a gentle venture and death was outnumbered just as often as not by injury. Ideally, if there were enough healers, then infection and blood loss would be two less reasons for life to slip away.

Arlowe and his Cruff had said goodbye to their traveling companions and stayed in the modified dormitory to provide what aid they could to the injured combatants battling against the Newport Church's Inquisitor-controlled separatists. Thankfully the Wyranese forces had a detachment of hospitalers and medics which meant that the two Raccoon Dogs were more-often-than-not occupied with delivering fresh bandages, heating water, and restraining patients who were too delirious with pain to follow commands of the healers.

Friar Arlowe didn't fail to notice that many of the medics used his son in a much more hands-on manner, having the younger Raccoon Dog help with sewing up injuries or administering poultices. It brought the Monk a great amount of joy to see just how much learning Cruffington had accomplished within the University; he realized that Water Science had never been the boy's focus and yet he seemed to keep up fairly well with the healers. Despite how little actual good the Monk himself could accomplish he felt a renewed sense of worth in staying to do what he could. He was no warrior and he would have done no good aiding the combatants fight back against the Inquisitors but if his two paws could help save lives then it would not turn down the opportunity.

* * * * * *

Cruff had spent so long as the most injured member of his party he had almost forgotten what it felt like to be in charge of the health of someone else, but the responsibilities loaded into his shoulders in the triage center made him wonder at his own limit, especially since he was not yet fully healed. Despite fatigue and stiffness the young Raccoon Dog pushed onward, ignoring the pain in his shoulder and his ribs as he went from bedside to bedside in an effort to help the healers save as many of the injured as possible.

He tried to keep his mind in the here-and-now but every time he looked up and caught a glimpse of his father gazing his way he couldn't help but think about the past and, in his more optimistic moments, the future. As a family, he and his father had lost much but even as separate men they had their own wounds that dove deeper than flesh and bone. There had been a reconciliation, and for that Cruff was exceedingly thankful but that didn't undo the pain and suffering that they had each endured for reasons both within and beyond their control.

Each time his mind began to wander thusly he had to remind himself that the injured who were counting on him were the future and not the past; he could do nothing about what HAD happened but it was possible for him to help influence what WOULD happen. He had lost people but it was possible for him to help prevent others from losing. He began to lose track of the time; the faces of the men he was helping became a blur as he was moved from bedside to bedside. Some of the men he could help save while others he could only help provide comfort in their last minutes of life. There was a duality to it all but then, he realized, there had always been a duality in everything for him in life.

Cruff had never been whole to start with, not since losing his father to the Church. He had always wanted to know the truth of his father's disappearance but at the same time he just wanted to hate him for 'reasons'. In his youth he had cultivated an interest in attending University but also in following his father's footsteps in the hallowed halls of the Church for 'reasons'. He had sought approval but also functioned without regard to the opinions of others due to 'reasons'. He had been great friends with his lover and yet the two had always maintained a safe distance for 'reasons'. As he held the hand of a dying Horse, Cruffington Flew suddenly realized how hollow 'reasons' seemed to be, especially since such a simple and stupid excuse seemed to run his entire life.

The Raccoon Dog looked down at the Stallion who labored to draw breath despite the wheezing futility of each inhale and the burbling wetness of every exhale. The Opossum medic Cruff was assisting had explained to Cruff that the reason the soldier would die was because his lungs would not inflate; there was too much pressure in his chest and he was being smothered. It was a common enough way for combatants with chest wounds to die and there was nothing that could be done for it. Yes; the Opossum was telling him that their patient would die for 'reasons'. That thought no longer appealed to him.

Cruff had spent a lot of time in the University learning about pressure: same pressure, differences in pressure, alteration of pressure, inflation, deflation, normalization of pressure; the Raccoon Dog didn't know a lot about the body but he knew enough about systems and trouble-shooting differences between them that he was NOT content to sit by and let 'fate' decide what would happen. The Oppossum was busy mixing a collection of herbs and chemicals that would take away the Horse's pain and cognizance so it was not difficult for Cruff to take the medic's flesh knife. The Oppossum didn't realize what the Raccoon Dog was doing until Cruff had located the tissue between two of the Horse's ribs. "Hey! You can't--"

Cruff decided he could. The Stallion gasped out in pain as the blade punctured his body and the Raccoon Dog recoiled when a small burst of air expelled from the incision, carrying with it a fine haze of blood and fluid. At first Cruffington wasn't certain what he'd accomplished, but when the Horse's next breath was a strong, clear inhalation even the Oppossum had no doubt. "God above, Boy! You may have just saved this man's life!"

From there, the duo moved on to repeat the procedure that was later to become known as the 'Cruff Incision' three more times.

* * * * * *

Tobias was not a man of violence and was generally poorly disposed toward martial pursuits but with the reassurance of the rather ungentlemanly Sea Otter named Gustave that his brother was in the Cathedral the Prong Horn was willing to brave the battlefield. Ahead of him strode Sir Umberto, a Wolverine who, in the best of health would have made a formidable defender; unfortunately the Templar was still wounded from the earlier battle with members of the Inquisition's forces. Reverend Gustave was a massive man and seemed to have little trouble moving despite that bulk and he carried himself with the surety of any warrior familiar with battle. Other than that, Tobias' only other companion was the Brody and the Doberman's slight physique and wiry build suggested that he was about as prepared for combat as the scholar himself.

Things did not improve when Gustave made an observation. "Rolf's brother-- ye got a sword or somethin?"

Tobias held up his walking stick. "This would qualify as 'or something', I suppose. It has served me in the past so I would venture that--"

He didn't have a chance to finish his sentence; the Sea Otter knocked the stick from his grasp with a slap from the flat edge of the broad sword he carried. "Bah! May as well brand yeself as a target, lad! Ye need a REAL weapon!"

Sir Umberto came to Tobias' aid, albeit not in the most reassuring manner. "He IS a target, Reverend... he's coming with us to find his brother, not to fight."

The jovial Sea Otter didn't seem the least dissuaded by the Wolverine's comment, going so far as to wave it away, adding an eye-roll for good measure. His curse was particularly... unique. "Gutterfish Chum, Templar! If he's goin' inta battle then he's gotta be ready t'fight."

The Wolverine wasn't done objecting. "So you plan on arming him and training him in the time it takes us to walk down a pawful of hallways?"

The Reverend grunted, finally appearing to take the objection at face value even as Tobias leaned down to collect his walking stick. "Well... either way he needs himself a good weapon."

Tobias scowled at the continued insistence. "This will continue to serve just fine for the capacity in which it is needed-- thank you, Reverend."

Gustave left it at that until the group paused at the sound of combat ahead. It was Sir Umberto who identified it for what it was. "We must be getting close. Stay near us."

The order wasn't directed at anyone particular but Tobias wasn't specifically concerned whether the Wolverine meant him or the Doberman; both became the shadows of the Templar and Missionary. Gustave held out a paw, webbed-digits splayed out in a silent 'stop' command. He gestured to Sir Umberto, who shook his head in response. The Sea Otter spoke in a quiet tone. "Sounds like th'boys're taking a beating... ye ready ta change th'tide?"

Rather than answer the Reverend directly Sir Umberto looked back to Tobias and Brody. "Stay close, but not too close-- ye both need ta be ready ta fall back if I give th'word."

Tobias wasn't sure if Brody was as apprehensive as he was but he saw the Doberman nod in time with him. The Prong Horn readied his staff and Brody pulled a belt knife out of its sheath and picked up what looked like a broken chair leg for his off-paw. The Dog seemed relatively light-hearted with his vocal response. "It's been awhile since I had a chance to play with soldiers..."

* * * * * *

Sir Umberto Marino had once known the field of battle and what it meant to stand against the Wyranese; he had been a sailor aboard the Ilysean ship The Aquilla before it had been destroyed by buccaneers from Wyra-- all the more reason it felt strange to be fighting beside the Brown-and-Blue flag instead of opposite it. Regardless, the one thing that meant for the Wolverine was that he knew their tactics; the Wyranese had a tried-and-true series of maneuvers that they used time and time again. Every time the fight shifted he was able to pull from his knowledge of their battle formations and it helped him find a place for himself on the shifting combat line.

The Templar's life aboard a ship also meant that he was familiar with fighting in tight spaces and even though the dining hall was massive in comparison to any ship compartment the sheer number of warriors engaged in combat was staggering, providing very little room for footwork or maneuvering. The destroyed furniture and pile of bodies in the room suggested that the engagement had been going for quite some time and the uneven footing recalled for him the pitching heave of the deck beneath his feet as he parried attacks and struck at his foes. One of the greatest differences between the past and his current battle however was his addition of armor; no sane sailor would wear something that would serve as an anchor dragging them to the depths if they fell overboard.

The Wolverine's armor proved its worth several times as the battle raged within the dining hall. Although the Church's soldiers received no reinforcements and were fighting tired the Wyranese were outnumbered which meant that they were forced to fight harder. Sir Umberto had also quickly learned that there was no commanding officer among the Wyranese, which was pure lunacy for a military that had such rigid and ordered methodologies. Thankfully that was one of the first benefits the attacking force had received by the party's arrival: apparently Reverend Gustave was not just a missionary; he was also an accomplished tactician and leader.

Umberto lost any sense of time or even the number of times he struck with his sword or was struck by someone else's. Despite occasional cuts or punctures his armor continued to hold and he continued to help the Wyranese push the Church's military back. Losses were high on both sides but eventually the remaining combat-capable men of the Wyranese military had the defenders backs to a wall... and that's when the Wolverine first caught sight of the defending commander: a blue dragon with the silver circlet of an Inquisitor. He had doffed his black Inquisitor cloak for favor of wings, which held him aloft in the high-ceiling dining hall. It wasn't his commanding position within the battlefield that caught the Wolverine's attention, however, it was his words.

With a roar more fitting of a creature twice the Inquisitor's already impressive size, the Dragon shouted out his challenge. "Your sacrilegious incursion ends here, men of Wyra! If you seek your destruction there are less damning ways to accomplish it!"

Reverend Gustave was apparently the only man willing to shout out a counter challenge but despite his skilled projection the Sea Otter's voice seemed woefully pitiful in comparison. "Ye don't speak fer the Church anymore, Dragon! Surrender, an' ye don't have ta get slaughtered like a--"

The Inquisitor didn't provide the man a chance to finish, opening his maw to release a powerful blast of fire down onto the Wyranese forces-- but something stopped him. A streak of tannish-brown arced across the ceiling and into the flying Dragon, having followed the pendulum-swing of a chandelier. The Inquisitor and the interceding warrior crashed down to the ground and landed atop one of the few unbroken tables in the room-- the combined weight quickly made it like its fellows. The Inquisitor's limbs twitched and spasmed while his tail thrashed back and forth, the death-throes of a man who's brain had been pierced.

Atop the Dragon, perched with his knees in the Inquisitor's abdomen was an early-middle-aged Prong Horn stag. His brownish and tan fur had hints of gray mixed in, granting more of a mature nobility than any hint of old-age frailty. The Antelope's black horns were well notched and dented from what had probably been a long life of violent conflict and his steady grip on his rapier kept it firmly in place, having skewered the Dragon's lower jaw, pinning it to its upper-sibling via the blade that also emerged from the top of the reptile's skull. Once the Inquisitor's death throes finally abated the Prong Horn stood up, dusted himself off, and turned to the rest of the Church's combatants who stood there stunned. The swashbuckler pulled out a second rapier from its scabbard on his hip and addressed them casually. "Alright then... who's next?"

The battle had come to a crashing halt with the loss of the Church's commander and the opposition was quick to surrender. While it took the much smaller Wyaranese force every last man they had to keep control of the situation the policing efforts did not include Sir Umberto or his immediate allies. He joined Tobias, who had rushed over to the Prong Horn who had swung through the air to dispatch the Inquisitor. Once the two were side-by-side there was no mistaking the family resemblance; the embrace was also a dead give-away... along with the noogie accompanied by what was most likely a pet name "Fancy seeing you here, Budder!"

The affectation didn't seem to sit well with Tobias but it was taken in stride as the two quickly worked up a dialogue; Sir Umberto's attention had already drawn to the staircase at the end of the hall leading from the dining room. Friar Juun had mentioned something about three Inquisitors: Efram, Ignus, and Rakka-- still at large and the commander of the forces they just defeated was only one of them. The Wolverine couldn't keep from wondering where the other two were; that curiosity was slackened only when he was faced with a second quandary: as he glanced around the dining hall he had to ask of himself: where was Brody?

* * * * * *

The sun was dawning by the time Brody made his way out of the Cathedral. It had never been difficult for the Doberman to maneuver his way through a building in a way that didn't draw attention but he found some minor complications escaping a structure that was being policed by the Wyranese military. Granted, most of the soldiers were more occupied with Church guards or caring for wounded companions than a single Dog who had managed to piece together a loose-fitting set of Wyranese combat leathers. Had any one of them stopped him he would have been hard pressed to present a convincing response to any questions; his Wyranese was 'iffy' at best. Thankfully nobody had stopped him and he managed to bluff his way to the central hall-- getting out of THERE had taken almost an hour.

A good portion of the Wyranese forces were stationed at the main exit to prevent people from entering or leaving. Brody had been forced to maintain vigil from an oratory balcony positioned high above the torches that lit the floor level, sticking to the darkness as he observed the comings and goings of the invading forces. When he realized that anyone who came or went had some sort of script they presented it was not a difficult feat to render one such traveler unconscious after encountering him alone in a side hall. From there he took the pass and slipped easily out past the Wyranese soldiers by letting the pass speak for him. Little did he expect what awaited him outside.

An angry collection of townsfolk had filled the streets and were mobbing the front of the Church. A decent sized military Wyranese military force remained outside to keep the peace but Brody realized it wouldn't take much to set them off. He knew that any chaos would only help him slip away unnoticed but at the same time it would cause issues for the Wyranese which, in turn would cause issues for Sir Umberto. Sighing, Brody spent another twenty minutes mulling about amidst the Wyranese who were thankfully more interested in watching the townsfolk than looking for infiltrators among their rank and file. When he finally saw an opportunity Brody slid behind a shrubbery, doffing his leathers as he went.

By the time he emerged the Doberman may as well have been one of the angry mob-- in fact, for good measure he walked backwards through the crowd shouting angrily at the soldiers as he did so. All was going well until he backed up into a Rhino who did not move for him... and said brute latched onto the Dog's shoulders with two powerful hands. At that point Brody was willing to admit that no plan ever went completely right. The Rhino then spoke. "Bout time you got here, Brody."

Then again, the comforting acknowledgement from one of his brother's heavies reaffirmed that sometimes plans DID go off without a hitch. He turned around and looked up at Vice; Brody didn't know the Rhino's real name but his nickname was well-earned. The Doberman responded to the thug as he rubbed his shoulder where the man's thick fingers had quite likely caused a bruise. "Yea yea... you can complain to Bart later. The Wyranese know how to guard halls. Either way I'm here now."

The Rhino's sour expression didn't change. "You can tell him yourself."

The two meandered out of the crowd and Brody resisted asking the question until they were half-way down the adjoining street. "We're going back to Vallara?"

Vice's expression finally changed; his grin wasn't an improvement. "Nah... he's here."

* * * * * *

Christine Brownell had not been comfortable walking the streets of Newport in the pre-dawn hours and it had been almost as imposing during the early morning. Having spent her entire life in the much smaller, much more personable town of Vallara the large city was both daunting and overwhelming. Regardless, Chris had promised Sir Wiesen that she would carry out his wish before they had parted; having completed her task of delivering a missive to the Princess, the Doctor had resolved to complete her task for the Dragon and go to the Church to find Bishop Fulgaré. The trip became a little more bearable when she encountered Kesst.

The Red Dragon seemed welcoming and polite, but distant in responses to her questions. She had a difficult time understanding why he was back in Newport when he had apparently found and been found by Wiesen in Graddin. He hinted that he knew what she carried for Wiesen but hadn't come out specifically to say it. Even more disconcerting was how he walked her to the Cathedral and resolved to leave her when she was but one block away. He provided her the final directions and then departed with a powerful leap accompanied by the flap of wings he no longer kept hidden. Yet, despite all she had encountered on the streets and the odd interaction with Kesst what she found that morning at the Cathedral was even more impossibly mind-blowing.

While Dr. Brownell had the longstanding opinion that men and women were equally qualified when it came to study and profession she had no qualms about admitting that society did not always see it that way. Suddenly finding herself dragged up in a chaotic tide of bodies pressed close together amidst angry shouts and promises of violence she felt more than ever that she was not equipped to handle the situation. Chris's light physique did little to earn her any chance of moving behind the press of the crowd that only continued to grow on the streets outside of the Cathedral. She was a small Mouse hopelessly lost amidst a sea of mobbing townsfolk.

Despite being in the thick of it nearly ten minutes passed before Dr. Brownell even realized what the gathering was about; Wyra was attacking Lehsunia; the invaders had taken over the Church; they had hostages; they were killing clergymen. None of what the mob had said seemed to carry anything even closely resembling sanity to it and it only caused her apprehension to grow. It wasn't until mid-morning when the mulling about came to an end... in a most peculiar fashion.

It started with a shout from the mob which spread quickly as arms extended skyward, pointing. Once Chris realized what was going on she turned to regard what everyone was identifying and that's when she saw Kesst. The Red Dragon was perched on a nearby building, wings extended, dressed only in a pair of leggings. Almost as if theatrically planned the Dragon let out a roar, issuing out a powerful gout of flame into the air; the crowd erupted in an equally loud exclamation at his presence-- the manic tone in the actually frightened her.

Once he had everyone's attention Kesst's voice boomed across the street and Dr. Brownell recognized a quote from one of the holy books (she had never been very good with religious study to know precisely which). "And lo, said the Prophet 'As I guide thee to thy pasture, listen to my words as I shepherd thee to His Grace. Accept not the temptation of indignation nor the fires of hate in His Name. Follow me to the safety of Home.'."

The Mouse wasn't exactly sure what Kesst meant by quoting the scripture and it was rapidly apparent that the mob was likewise confused. Eventually, however, they understood as he leapt from his perch and flew overhead. "Go home, people of Newport! The Wyranese are here at the request of the Church; they are doing God's will!"

While there was still some confusion amidst the crowd once a few people started departing the rest of the mob ultimately followed suit until the mass exodus began and the angry shouts and promises of violence faded away. Christine was so relieved that she didn't even notice as Kesst's next pass overhead took him in low-- she continued not noticing right up until the moment his talons closed carefully around her forearms and she was pulled into the sky with him. She regretted the stereotypical maiden-in-danger scream the experience elicited from her but she followed it up quickly with a demand for more information. "What are you doing?!?!"

Kesst's voice was easily heard despite the whipping wind. "I offered to assist you with your delivery, and I meant it. I'm taking you to Fulgaré."

Her confusion was so complete that she had a hard time establishing a sane question. The most prominent thing on her mind was soon to be answered however as the Dragon had circled high enough that she could clearly see the destination of his flight plan: a large balcony on the Cathedral's second highest spire. A question finally came to her. "Fulgaré is there?"

The Dragon's response prompted more questions than it answered. "Yes... assuming he's still alive."