| Subject: Finally I have time! Sorry to keep everyone waiting, though it doesn't seem like anyone cared... |
Author:
Dakkan
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Date Posted: 01:30:37 04/01/03 Tue
In reply to:
Dakkan Strongrudder, otter with a quill!
's message, "*rubs his paws* OK, it's been awhile..." on 01:31:00 03/07/03 Fri
Kyre scanned the scene quickly, looking for any possible avenue of escape. The lines of vermin had circled in to the water line, and some of them had bows. He and Ferkah could neither break through nor try to swim away. The only remaining option was to fight.
The corsair's lone sprint at the hare was quickly joined by the others in a howling mob of vermin. Ferkah cooly stopped the lead beast with his large footpaws, dispatching the next with his long dagger. Leaping back, he threw his dagger with all his strength and managed to nick a weasel's cheek and pin another in the throat. As the mob of wavebeasts pressed in, he lifted his dagger high and shouted his warcry again before plunging into battle.
"Eeeuuullaaaaaaalliiiiaaaaahhhhhh!"
Kyre was more effectively keeping his foes at bay due to the greater length of his sword. Weasels and foxes were beginning to push others forward rather than meet the sea otter themselves.
Ferkah gave a cry and Kyre turned to look. Vermin had come from behind and were about to swamp the gallant hare and cut him to ribbons. Bellowing, the sea otter rushed over in a spray of sand to help his comrade. Right into the jaws of a trap.
The rest of the corsair crew yelled triumphantly as they chased Kyre and closed a ring behind him. The otter felt an arrow pierce his ear before the flats of the vermin blades rained down upon himself and Ferkah.
***********
The ferret captain smirked down on the two as he oversaw their unconscious bodies on the deck. "So the young sea otter lives. More lives than a cat, he has. Heh, probably wanted revenge over his stupid rowboat. I'll fix that spark, won't I?" His gaze hardened. "Take him to the galleys. I'm sure there's enough room for a pair of fighters like these." He swept off, allowing his minions to do their work.
A fat gray weasel by the name of Fogpelt guffawed in simple amusement as he poured cold sea water over the two captives. Kyre and Ferkah came to, gasping in pain as the salt burned the wounds they'd acquired earlier that afternoon.
"Wakey wakey, m'beauties," growled Fogpelt dully. "You're gunna have t'be awake plenny enough when y'gets yore oar assignments, heh heh heh." The gray weasel grasped the two ropes tied about the groggy prisoners' paws and dragged them down splintery wooden stairs to the slaves' quarters. He set them up on a bench and chained them swiftly to the oar to keep them from falling over. Laughing quietly, he took his seat by the large drum that governed rowing speed.
A mottled brown-and-white hare nudged Kyre. "Ach, looks like ye got yerself in wi' us, pore beastie. Awake, me young bairn. Th' drums speak, m'laddie."
Fogpelt banged the drums loudly three times to gain attention, then began a steady beat.
Kyre and Ferkah lifted their oar in unison with the others and they felt the craft begin to move.
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