FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Chapter 14 - Albrand, Village of Ideals

16th Day of Manul

118 I.E.

For a time, Bart remained stationed in Olaraa. He soon realized that Gantors pulled some strings to keep him in the city for an extended period of time. Once in a while, the Highlord summoned him to the citadel to see if he changed his mind and if he was now interested in his offer. He could get out of the military and the rest of his sentence if he joined Arion's Peacekeepers. He could have the freedom that he so desperately sought.

The ursar declined him every time. He wanted nothing to do with Arion or his ilk. Bart thought he was a pretentious ass that enjoyed toying with other people. It didn't matter if he was coerced into that show of power the day they met. If he was truly against it, Bart believed that he would have declined to participate in such games. Not that it would have made a difference to him anyways, he was certain he would have hated Arion just the same regardless of how he acted.

Even as a convict, he had a small amount of battle pay given out for his jobs. It wasn't a lot, but considering he had no home to pay for or family to take care of, Bart ended up with a considerable amount of disposable income to throw around. He had more freedom by that time, in that he could leave the barracks without an escort, but he was still restricted from going near the residential areas or the Golden Rows. He also wasn't allowed to have alcohol, a hold over from when he was in Evergloom, but he ignored those rules. He followed two out of three of the big "no's" they had given him, so who cared if he had a few drinks?

Unfortunately for Bart, his usual route to the nearest taverns from the barracks took him past the newly constructed Peacekeeper's Temple. It was still being built with the aid of the ursar masons that had been exiled along with their order. Bart hated walking by such an eye sore. It's bright red clay accents clashed with the utilitarian look of the dwarven construction around them.

The training yard was full of other ursar training in the cloistered walls, speaking in a language that Bart could scarcely hope to understand. Did they notice him walking by? Did they talk about him? He wasn't sure whether the possibility scared him more than the reality that they didn't.

From time to time, he could see Arion lounging on a balcony on the top floor of the temple. The monk's eyes met his, even from a long distance, and Bartholomew felt exposed. He could read his mind at any time, and frankly, he didn't trust him. Bart knew he was being judged by the ursar. It made him angry and set his skin on fire every time he thought of it.

His time away from duty was short lived. Bart was eventually sent back out on various tours with his former unit from Evergloom to patrol the republic and lands beyond. For once in Bart's life, things were peaceful. Sure, he was marching to the beat of someone else's drum, and he was always busy with working for the military, but he was free of the abuses he had suffered in his youth. After a short stint in Evergloom, the unit he was in was sent off to Albrand.

It was a small farming village about three days north of the edge of Evergloom Forest. Despite the distance from the capital, the little dwarven village had a thriving economy thanks to being built along the major trade routes. The rolling hills of the Southern Kelial Plains provided a breezy, relaxing get away from the bustling cities and the eternally dark woods to the south.

The region had become quite infamous for his banditry in recent years though. At one point, Albrand was the center of a rebellion that sparked the War of Ideals. Bart had only vaguely heard about the conflict from his schooling. The civil war occurred between the newly formed Lightweavers and the conservative Church of Laren. The Lightweavers won, ushering in a new era of freedom previously unseen under Laren's influence.

The end of the conflict did not mean the end of the hostilities though. The Hands of Laren, a militant group, sprouted from the ashes of defeat and spread throughout the countryside. The republic considered them nothing more than terrorists and suppressed them anywhere possible, but as the war faded from the memory of the people, sympathy for the Hands began to grow again. Bart and his unit were sent from Evergloom Post to quell the latest uprising, and martial law was quickly put into effect to help lock down the terrorists' movements.

The normally busy market was almost completely devoid of life. Though most businesses stayed open, the curfew that was enacted had most merchants closing up well before sunset. The only exception was the inn that housed a tavern in the basement cellar. As long as no one left the building after dark, they were permitted to remain open to attend to tenants and visitors.

Bart was rather pleased with the arrangement, even if Hilfa did her best to keep him out of the tavern. He snuck in to refill his flask during one of his patrols, and chugged an entire mug of ale before he left. He stumbled down the streets, not caring who may have saw him. The Hands of Laren had all but fled after the first couple weeks that the soldiers were stationed in Albrand. Bart wasn't worried about being out on the streets at night.

Even as his throat still burned from the ale he'd just finished, Bart unscrewed the cap of his flask and drank deeply from it. He tipped his head back as he drained it dry. Though he liked the taste of the bitter dwarven ale, and the way it made him feel when he got drunk, he sorely missed the green and its intoxicating effects. It took far more booze than green to make him feel good.

With a contented sigh, Bart capped the container and wiped his muzzle dry with his arm. He had a bounce in his step and a lightness granted to him by his giddiness. Bart continued along what he thought was his patrol route. It was the fourth consecutive night he'd been out on patrol duty throughout the town to make sure people were following their curfew, and aside from a few stragglers he'd encountered, there was nothing to do but walk around. He moved cautiously, trying not to trip over the rough cobblestone roads. The task was made all the more insurmountable by the alcohol in his body, and he desired the company of a warm body rather than the chill silence of the evening.

"Hey, you're off your patrol route."

Bart looked back the way he came and saw Rejian standing a ways down the road with a glowing light floating just over his extended palm. He wasn't supposed to be awake or on duty, but Bart didn't care as much about that as he did the fact there was now someone to talk to.

"Rejian!" Bart exclaimed more happily than he normally would have addressed the dwarf. "I thought you pampered paladins would be pretty pooped after the day you had." The ursar chuckled at his choice of words.

Rejian groaned at his drunken behaviour. "What are you doing? You're so obviously drunk that it's painful to watch."

"I'm not drunk you're drunk!" he playfully accused. His mind was running wild in its responses, and he was hardly able to stop himself. Not that he would want to; he was having fun.

"This is going nowhere fast," Rejian slapped his brow with his hand. "You should return to your bunk. I'm going to inform Hilfa."

"Aw don't go tell her! She'll ruin the fun!" Bart protested, walking closer to Rejian.

"That's the point," Rejian said with a frown.

"Hey how about if you keep this our little secret, I'll make it worth your while... I'll even buy you a round at the tavern afterwards."

Rejian bristled at his remarks. Bart could hear the scrunch of leather gloves as he tightened his fist. "Are you suggesting that I... and you..." His face visibly paled. Bart had a lecherous grin pinned on his face, and the dwarf looked him up and down before shuddering. "No. I'm not some Gods-cursed sodomite!!"

"Oh no no, I don't want that either!" Bart said backpedaling as quickly as his drunken mind would allow. He had to think fast to salvage the situation, and he could barely do that when sober. "I just figured I could pay you back if you don't tell Hilfa. See I can do this thing with my tongue where-"

"Shut up!" Rejian shouted as Bart tried to display his skills. "By the Pantheon, just shut up already! I don't want to hear any more of this. If you're not going to return to your bunk I'm going to get Hilfa."

"Aw come back Rejian!" Bart whined. He moved to catch up to the dwarf. "Please?"

"No."

"You're not even interested a teensy bit?"

"Gods no! Now get away from me. You reek and I want to get to sleep. The sooner I talk to Hilfa the sooner I can do just that."

"Pfft fine, I see how it is." Bart made a rude gesture in Rejian's direction and went back the way he came.

I don't need him. I can have plenty of fun with me and my... when did my flask empty!?

Bart grumbled to himself. Now how was he supposed to have fun? If he ran out of booze then he would start sobering up, and if that happened he would start thinking about Arion. The last thing he wanted on his mind were the near constant thoughts about the self righteous monk and his stupid Order. He couldn't explain why his mind was so infatuated by Arion anyways. It wasn't as if there was anything remotely interesting or attractive about -

Hostility! Anger! The sudden intrusion of someone else's emotions killed Bart's train of thought, and even through the haze he could feel the rage approaching, but he couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from. He swung his head around, then lowered it and gripped his head. Moving so suddenly made the world spin, and he felt like throwing up.

When did I become such a wuss with my drinks? Bart thought. He hadn't had that much. Just the mug of ale. And his flask. And the full flask he had before his refill. Oh...

With a snarl, he righted himself and looked up just in time to see a dwarf running at him with a blade in his hands. He felt the dagger drive into his stomach and he coughed as the force of the blow expelled the air from his lungs. He lost his footing and toppled backwards, but not without clumsily reaching out with his paws to swipe at his attacker. He'd forgotten to unsheathe his claws, but even the rough blow from his massive fist was enough to do the dwarf in and send him into the realm of unconsciousness.

It won't stop bleeding! He thought as he gaped at his wound.

Another dwarf shouted something before he jumped in with a knife in his hands. The second blade found its home within Bart's side, several inches around his belly from where the first attack had landed.

"To the Pit with you, scum! This is Laren's land, not yours!" one of his attackers shouted.

Pain radiated out from the stab wounds on Bart's stomach, and he felt another large cut across his arm. Neither the drunken haze nor the adrenaline that began pumping through his veins was enough to mitigate the pain. Bart had to make a choice: fight back and, in the process of struggling, bleed out quicker, or try to stem the flow of blood while still being harried by his attackers.

It was becoming difficult to focus. All he could think of was the pain. He'd been beaten and shot at before, but being in a real combat situation made it that much harder to focus. Unlike the other times, he could actually die, and the primal fear that haunted all mortals began to set in. He couldn't decide what to do, and the longer he waited, the more impossible it became.

Bart managed to shove another attacker away, but there were still three others to deal with that were running in to finish the job. He reached up and grabbed the sword one of them swung at him, and the blade bit into his palm. Bart hollered as his attacker yanked the weapon back, and it very nearly cut through his thumb as it was pulled away.

The ursar stood up, but was quickly brought low as one of them cut at the tendons on the back of his ankles. His good paw went out to catch himself, and he watched as the Hands closed in around him to finish him off.

Not like this! I can't die like this! Was the only thought running through Bart's mind. He tried to fight back but his strikes were clumsy and uncoordinated. It was only a matter of time before he'd be finished.

His paw closed in around the neck of one of the dwarves and he began to squeeze. Something hard and heavy struck him in the back of the head, but he refused to let go. He became intensely focused on trying to take down at least one of them that he didn't even heard the magic incantation being recited nearby. A blast of flames struck him in the chest, burning away much of his fur and causing his flesh to blister and bubble. His screams of pain were cut off by a firm boot to the stomach.

"To think they'd even put an ursar in the military," one of the Hands sneered. "Damn beastman lovers." His blade flashed out and made a beeline for Bart's exposed neck.

The weapon fell away without warning as a crossbow bolt hit the dwarf in the head. All the other Hands looked up and saw more soldiers making their way towards the commotion. Bart managed to crush the windpipe of the one he'd grabbed before his paw began to tremble and feel cold. He'd lost too much blood, and he began to slip from consciousness. He watched as his vision tunneled and went blurry. His paw reached out to grab onto something, as if he were sinking into the sea and was being dragged down by something. His arm felt heavy and it dropped as a blurred form stood over him.

Bart began to lose all sense of himself, and everything was silent.