L'République Otters: Roaring Dawn

"Heroes are mere mortals bearing arms. When one exalts a righteous cause, no one sees whether 'tis a mask hiding a knave. Honourable ones do exist, though. Just that every mortal is born selfish and every hero can only save those he sides with."
~Ser Jon Woodgeist the Young; Marquis Warden of the Throne

Source

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What in the Seven Hells?

This dream again?

How many times have I been through this?

I'm standing in the middle of this blizzard again. Everyone... everyone is dead. Some of them look familiar, but I don't know who they are. The rest are just strangers. There's this girl with her head severed, the colour of her hair like the bloodied snow.

Do I know her?

"Can you keep up with me?"

I hate that voice without knowing why. His emotionless tone makes me feel like punching him.

Part of myself says this fellow is responsible, but the greater half of me denies it. Like always, he's dressed in dark green together with a brown leather vest. He wears gloves of grey reaching below his elbows and boots reaching below his knees. Then there's this bloodied sword in his hand, a cloak of grey flapping wildly towards one side.

My legs are numbed even though I don't feel the cold with my vision blurring without the pain. The joints of my arms become stiff, but my fists remain clenched.

"Can you keep up with me?"

Same old question is asked as I feel a fire flaring up inside. The warmth rouses me as its presence reminds me of something... something which I can't remember. Bloody Seven Hells, going back to Redcart really made me and Bruno looked like a pair of running idiots going after a prize that wasn't there.

His eyes are of azure blue. His long ears and brown skin is a look I'll never forget. His hair is fairly short and parted to the side, but his features remain a blur.

"YOU TRY KEEPING UP WITH ME INSTEAD!"

With those words and my challenge shouted out loud, I start running after him.

Surely I can keep up with him. Definitely, I will sur...

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Wayne Morris is clearly an annoyed man. Just when everybody was sound asleep, the greatest moron alive shattered their peace. A forceful yank pulls the dreamer off his bed, the target of Wayne's wrath finding himself sprawled face first on the wooden floor. Greeted by sapphire eyes opened wide, every recruit sends his glowering regards to a sandy blond of average looks.

"Erm... it's a dream, no?" smiles a sheepish Gael Kodr, his brown shorts and white collarless shirt mirroring that of the rest.

"You're obviously having a nightmare," growls his closest friend with a grimace, his fiery hair a reflection of anger, "To be straight, I don't give a flying shit on why you're screaming like someone shafted by a ten-foot pole. But for the love of the entire Holy Quintet, DON’T WAKE US UP!"

"Eh, did I really scream that loud, Catts?" Gael asks, a hand running through his blond hair cropped.

"If a mutt can't bark out loud, it ain't one," snarls Wayne, his massive hands seizing by Gael by the front of his shirt, "Hopefully, our bunk officers won't end up hearing a stuck pig screaming. If not…”

For the first time in his life, Gael feels like a swine ready for slaughter. The image of a million knives stuck inside his body decides to play a macabre game with him, he’d rather be sentenced to castration.

"Erm, okay. I get the picture, Wayne Morris."

"Yeah, right. The picture of a stuck pig," retorts the redhead who has been Gael's accomplice in every misdemeanour since thirteen.

"What are all of you doing here?"

A question hollered swiftly cuts into every listener’s ears, its impact akin to a beacon of warning. Hastily shuffling into position, the group of fifteen stands in ranks of three as the stocky bunk officer receives a proper salute.

"Catterm Leen! Gael Kodr! Why are the two of you still not standing at attention?" barks their brunette superior, his sturdy frame decked in padded armour.

"Sorry, Sir!" exclaims Catterm, "Erm, actually we're pretty much surprised at your surprise assault. As you can see, I was way too engrossed in teaching our friend here some lessons on how civilisation works."

"Teach? You, Catts? Please, you're balmy beyond cure! And why mention civi..." before Gael can finish his statement, his best friend slapped him across the head.

"Shut up! You'll only get us all shafted."

Delivering a wry smile conceived from his well-humoured nature, Garev Southgate doesn’t have to be a genius to know the answer.

"It’s only natural for people to have nightmares,” clearing his throat in an exaggerated manner, Garev continues his speech, “But I do not desire any more heroics coming from you all. The Third Company’s repute within the Second Support Command has officially preceded everything else. Understand me, laddie bucks?"

The youths under his charge sing a song of relief within their hearts as they managed to escape the jaws of Seven Hells. They could have easily been done in ten times over, each individual making a mental note to buy himself a carving knife lest an idiot decides to do something shocking one more time.

"Okay, lads! With all things said, prepare yourselves for the roll call. Dawn is nearing, may the roar be with us! Understand?" exclaims a grinning Garev, his right arm dramatically sweeping across.

"Yes, Sir!"

"Man, it's a good thing seeing nice bloke Garev as our bunk chief. Definitely luckier than me playing buff poker with those mad cats from Wearsor."

"Do you mind, Gael Kodr?" snaps Catterm, “When was the last time a cretin mopped the floor with anyone from either the Wearsor or Tynis division?”

"Erm, last week? Or last month? You need to tell me, Catts."

"Gael Kodr, I swear you’re asking for…"

Before Catterm can finish voicing his thoughts, the morning bell tolls. Anticipation washes over the sandy blond, his passionate grin worn like a badge of pride. Gael Kodr instinctively cracks his knuckles. Four rigorous years spent in the Mersey Academy and the life he has wanted so badly begins to unfold like the prologue to a hero's tale. The banner of Lionhearts emblazoned inside both mind and heart, the bathhouse is to be his next stop.

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Breakfast is a simple fare of bacon, scrambled eggs, and buttered bread. Officers and recruits dine alike, their seats placed side by side. Military regulars have always steered clear from such practice, for this is an act used to earning sniggers. They call it a rarity in society, an insult to the military. The Lionhearts would have none of it, their penchant for causing the occasional trouble appreciated by the smallborne. Arrests beget only a slap on the wrist, things actually used to be worse prior to new laws prohibiting vigilantism done in this manner. To the Lionhearts, they belong to the smallborne more than anyone else in the Empire. No matter what, when, and where. Peddlers of rumours even whisper at times that the Emperor himself is unwilling to rein them in. A laughable tale as Emperor Lesien is known as the Iron Yew for a reason. Nevertheless, this is why their unofficial motto is equally obnoxious to the rich and elite.

Never by blood, our pride will never fall. If you pummel one of us, try a hundred instead.

"Eh, not bad... not bad at all given that I've had shit food before," quips Gael with an off-tune whistle, his own plate cleared and returned.

"You know this ain't the Tynis division. Guess not even the Holy Quintet know what their cooks are smoking before lighting the stove," chuckles Catterm, his foul mood dissipated, "Hey, there's still a bit of time before we gear up, so why not a little bant?"

"Hell yeah! Beater and..."

Gael Kodr promptly receives his reward for outspoken enthusiasm, a punch across the back of his skull being his keep.

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"Do you want to get me killed?" snarls Catterm as he ruffled his fiery hair in frustration, "Who told you to out ourselves? Do you even know what that nickname means?"

"Whoa, calm down! Cool your fire, Catts!"

"I suspect the only way to cool my fire is to roast you alive. I know Gael Kodr is Beater, but are you so obsessed to let the whole of Teslaide know my nickname?"

"Erm… yes? You’re damn good at pleasing girls and Elys is one."

"You should've accepted Adine's proposal when you got the chance," growls Catterm, a palm placed over his face, "Shaft her and at least you won’t die a virgin."

"Adine?"

"Yeah, Adine. Anything wrong with the cold hard truth?" questions Catterm with an eyebrow raised, his annoyance raising slightly an irate tone.

"That pretty serving girl at Uncle Crock's watering hole?"

"Not just an ordinary cretin, huh?" sighs the redhead, exasperation wearing him down like an insatiable lover, "You blind cretin, which Adine are we talking about? Yes, I saw that beautiful girl. Slim, surely a looker, pity she's got a small stack..."

"Adine, the daughter of Crocker Tayne."

"Are we talking about the same Adine, you retarded bastard? You better not tell me that other Adine took your virginity."

No sooner Catterm's cynical reply left his lips, an abrupt shock dawns on him. Sudden realisation staking its claim, Gael Kodr's best friend left himself gaping at something he'd rather die than to admit.

"Wait a holy second, please don’t tell me…"

"Yep!" grins a victorious Gael, a look of mischief offering the redhead a massive dish of humble pie, "Saw her last month during our final trench leave! At her dad's place no less. Can you believe she recognised me first?"

I must be hearing things... I must be hearing things. Seriously, that stick thin ugly duckling Adine?

"Oh and one more thing, Catts. I didn't shaft Adine. Not in the past or just recently."

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The underbelly of the Kalaran Empire is never for the weak and ignorant. Like the heart of even the most righteous soul, there are always more than a few dark corners and alleys. In the shadow cast over every lane, robbers lie in wait. Smugglers haggle with their customers out in the open, every tavern is never a stranger to the darkest sins. Fittingly so, such an area is known as a nether district. A place where money, power, and the ruthless reign.

"So how’s business?"

Adine Tayne has never been comfortable before the leers of lecherous men, yet no one dare lay a finger on her. Unlike its counterparts, the Coral Sea would not hesitate to throw out patrons guilty of starting fights or worse. Tales of rape has always been common, but not in front of those watchful eyes at the bar counter.

"Closing by autumn. It's a good thing you informed me before making a dangerous trip, Adine."

Why Lukas Brun would ever wind down his business is anyone's guess, for the Coral Sea's intolerance towards lawlessness is always that most attractive draw. Not every patron is interested in wrangling with each other, violence is only fun for those not at the receiving end.

"Tell me what you know about Gael," says Adine as she takes a sip of her drink.

"Me? Why always me?" grins the owner of Coral Sea, "You should be asking other people, not yours truly."

"Because everyone enjoys calling Gael worthless," frowns Adine, "I just need to know what happened between the two of you years ago."

"Let me assure you that Gael is my friend," smirks Lukas, his finger wagging in front of his brunette customer, "Unless he desires it, I'm not going to get him into trouble. Let alone myself for that matter."

"I heard that place was where the village of Redcart used to be. Now it's more of a bigger settlement with walls," replies Adine, her displeasure towards Lukas' goading never disguised, "He could have asked Catts along, but he didn't."

Lukas then starts laughing aloud, the androgynous brunette courting Adine's frustration.

"Which means he trusts me more than his best friend forever?" shrugs Lukas, "A good thing Catterm Leen isn't around to hear you say that. Catts is too honourable to understand fights are mostly won by a flick of the hand and a throwing knife."

"Catts injured himself," retorts an impatient Adine, her calm fraying faster than an arrow loosed.

"An unfortunate accident involving a tree. He shouldn't have done something stupid just to impress Elys," nods Lukas, his amusement maintaining its cheeky glow, "She'd still warm his bed willingly for the night, stupidity or no stupidity."

Just tell me what's going on back then for the Holy Quintet's sake!

"Gael merely wanted to confront the past," sighs Lukas, his face turning sombre, "A past which he has no idea about."

"But if he can't..."

Cutting off the willowy brunette's words with a dismissive wave, Lukas caresses Adine's chin much to her disgust. She has never taken a liking for Lukas Brun, her disdain nothing to do with his preference towards men. He is always one step ahead of the rest, his hand never shown till the time comes. In other words, the owner of Coral Sea is a master schemer. And Adine has no love for tricksters and swindlers after the manner of her cousin's suicide.

"Everyone has a past. You too as well, Adine Tayne. Remember how Catts taunted you just because you're too stick thin, ugly, and underdeveloped? You have truly blossomed. Apart from your breasts, of course. That's a compliment, not an insult."

"I don't see the relevance," snaps Adine, her frustration threatening to erupt.

"Yes, there is," smiles Lukas as he leans towards Adine, "There are those who choose to forget and those who can't let go. We're all like that. Which is why you choose to love a man regardless of whether he loves you back or not."

Chagrin consumes Adine, her palm ready to strike. Before the slap starts its attack, however, Lukas grips her wrist, his deceptive strength forcing her to give up.

"Then we have someone like our common friend," with a sigh, Lukas releases Adine's hand, "Forced to forget, yet having a compelling urge not to let go."

"Then did you two discover anything?" replies Adine curtly, her eyes straying towards a male patron attempting to force himself on one of the serving girls.

"Nothing," shrugs Lukas as he let fly a hidden knife, his show of legerdemain resulting in the blade sinking into the patron's hand, "Can someone please help me take out the garbage?"

With a wink and mischievious grin, Lukas tosses another knife upwards and catching it by the tip in the blink of an eye.

"I don't mind the presence of horny men, but not in my own backyard. Regardless of race, language, religion, or... well, you get the picture."

With those words, he embeds the weapon into the counter table.

"You never asked me even once why I'm so interested in Gael's past," questions Adine, her intention to test the target nevertheless detected by Lukas.

"That's because I don't care who he marries so long that person can keep a leash on him. I owe him a debt, but I don't expect myself to be worthy of repaying that lion of a man."

"What debt?"

"Does it really matter? We don't share the same bed, but I know the two of you will. Mind you, my informants are everywhere."

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"You can’t touch me! I am under protection!"

Under protection like some exotic animal? I might’ve been to the Imperial Zoo only once, but I don’t remember seeing a son of a bitch that old.

"Come on, Gael. Bastard’s not worth your time."

Yeah, he's not worth yours as well, Bruno. If Gael Kodr wants something done, he’ll get it done.

"GAEL! YOU HEAR ME? THE LAW WILL GO AFTER YOU!"

I’m getting sick and tired of people telling me about the law. Whatever happening to the good old days before I was born is irrelevant. Changes to the law? I can still toss a rich brat into the River Tes so long no one outs himself as a witness. Sorry, Catts. You’re yelling for nothing and Bruno’s advice won’t work on me. At least not here, not now.

"I am protected by the law!"

That’s it, you seventy-three winters freak. You tell me about the law? Well, I'm gonna be your law.

"Tell me... tell me how many funeral songs have you sung?"

Arsehole’s face freezing on the spot? Now that’s priceless.

" MANY?!"

Anger boils up inside me as I ask him that damning question. I don’t care who he claims to be or what he did before coming here. Looks like Ales’ fellow Cinha, but he stinks of piss and money. You stay in our Teslaide, you better respect those in Teslaide. If he thinks making fun of those kids drowned in some boating mishap is funny, I’ll show him real comedy. My fury is now for real even though I throw down the steel pole in my hand. Given a choice, I'd most likely kill him with a blow to the head. But there's no point getting thrown into the slammer since there’s a promise I need to fulfil with Ales.

"Well, you know what people say about retribution…"

If I must recall any lessons learnt from Uncle Parky, it’d be this. You seventy-three winters jackass, betcha never see a pissed off Kalaran, let alone three. Should’ve wagered a tenner with Catts and Bruno on whether you’re impotent.

"Wait, what are you doing to my wheelchair? Help! Somebody! Guards! Guards!"

What am I doing? I'm just sending you on a journey.

"NO!"

This has to be the best part of my life. Seeing a jackass scream is one thing, knowing you’re the one shoving him off is seven times the value. Oh, and his arms flailing like a nutcase as well.

"Oh my gods! They killed him!"

"Pah, that bastard! That son of a hundred winters bitch, who cares?"

Then a strong hand grips my shoulder, relief overtaking me upon knowing who.

"Moron! What if you killed him? Trading a scum for the slammer, who’s your classroom teacher by the way?"

I’d like to say Uncle Parky, but I'd be flayed like a dead cat.

"Catts, he’s still alive!"

Wait, he’s still alive? What kind of freak is he? Some weird being infiltrating Teslaide? Think I need to do something about this.

"No, Gael," snaps Bruno, his sharp tone holding me in place just like always, "The Cinha geezer might be okay, but it seems that he lost control of his bladder."

"So how, Luk? I heard this old bum is some high-end merchant doing business in our Saltsea."

Well, no one can fault Catts for being rational. Brains plus package, no wonder Elys is so horny for him.

"I’ll make sure he lives," smirks our pretty buddy, "And while I’m at it, staying noiseless as well."

Okay, a slight change in the statement. Catts is rational, but Bruno is crafty. As for me, seeing old folks somersaulting like some lame acrobat is better than getting laid. Not that I'd want to anyway since Uncle Parky will really flay me like a dead cat. Good thing I didn't take up Adine's offer. Then again, I'm sure she was actually drunk.

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"So how fared your informant?"

There is no difference between days ago and now. The attractive elf still has his silvery blond hair slicked back and tied with strands covering the forehead. Caressing his elongated ears flippantly, this is a figure of unflappable confidence and eerie calm. His maroon doublet worn over a white shirt is secured by a silken sash, a pair of tight fit trousers and leather shoes completing the look.

If there is anyone Adine truly detests dealing with, it's never Lukas Brun. At the very least, there is a predictable factor in him. Namely, his friendship with Gael. This other individual is a different kind of monster altogether. His emerald orbs betray nary a trace of emotions, yet his smile is no different from a knave dealing with a peasant. Prior to their first meeting, Adine already knew how elves look like. Hauntingly fair and aloof, forever placing a hand on the pommel of a blade. No one tried asking them the manner of their business, such has been the fear they have commanded all the while. More oft than not, a passing banter involving elven women would always result in a life mysteriously gone. The speaker's tongue would never be seen, a dagger wedged between the victim's shoulder blades.

"I have a request for you, my fair lady. In return, I shall guarantee you something you never know, yet so appealing."

Edeaux de Serpentwine seized the initiative, his manner of negotiation unbecoming of the Homm'Nua who prefer a more direct approach. He introduced himself as a seafaring merchant from Histalonia, his words never entirely false. For where he hails from is a land of money, status, and power, a place of skullduggery without reprieve for the weak and tardy.

"I know you desire a certain man. I also feel the same for another man. My informant told me both parties know each other as friends. I need you to check on him. Ask away any questions in your mind before him. I shall see to it that you will be well rewarded for your efforts."

"He's fine," answers Adine, her wary eyes of brown keeping their focus on the surroundings. The Histalonian may have kept his end of the bargain, the fact that no one laid a finger on her is the best evidence of a promise kept. Yet, she knows that anyone capable of preventing deplorable men from dealing their hand can easily be the same kind of animal.

"Why should I give you a new home in one of my many bordellos?" smirks Edeaux, his relaxed posture reminiscent of a feline waiting to pounce, "You're a fine specimen, but I have a better pick here in Teslaide."

"Fine then," retorts the attractive brunette, her willowy frame suddenly stiffens up, "Per promised..."

"There is a hidden orphanage in Redcart. And I say hidden because it is somewhere within the forest beyond its walls. A small patch of land, mayhap no more than a few acres."

"They say it's haunted."

The speaker is not Adine, the voice all too familiar to both her and Edeaux. A slim figure dressed in bartender's garb greets them both, his androgynous features bringing a grin to Edeaux's face.

"Ah, the deuteragonist arrives."

"Cut the pompous greeting, Serpent," snaps Lukas, his sombre orbs of light blue staring at a quavering Adine. The daughter of Crocker Tayne knows instinctively that trouble is nearing, years of silent observation in her father's tavern the cause. As she turns her back on the two, Edeaux's message manages to reach her ears, the clarity akin to a king's herald announcing his liege's coming.

"If you see either a red-haired maiden or her dark brooding knight, it means you are on the right path. Make sure one is named Seelia and the other Arondight."

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Glossary:

Bant: Informal term for banter.

Holy Quintet: The official religion of Causaceans (i.e. people of the continent of Nordeas). Comprises of the Scholar, the Soldier, the Farmer, the Builder, and the Father. The first four represent the aspects of civilisation (i.e. academics and arts, warfare, agriculture, and architecture respectively) while the last one represents the highest authority overseeing the other four. In Slarvea, however, only the Father is worshipped with the rest treated as heresy. Inspired by G.R.R Martin's Faith of the Seven and the actual medieval church.

Histalonia: A large island (roughly the size of Australia) off the northwest of Nordeas. The natives there is a race unto themselves with an olive complexion and dark features. Inspired by the Iberians.

Redcart: A small village. Unfortunately, I can't do spoilers here. Inspired by an actual place named Redcar.

Seven Hells: The Causacean version of hell with seven layers. Each layer represents one particular sin (i.e. Murder, Adultery, Greed, Idleness, Apathy, Unfilial Conduct, Heresy/Blasphemy). Inspired by the concept of seven deadly sins.

Buff poker: Strip poker. No need for me to elaborate further, I don't want my future mother-in-law to come after me with a carving knife.

May the roar be with us: Same meaning as the Original Sanders (i.e. "May the Force be with you")

Company/Command/Support: Terms used for various classifications in the military. A company is part of a command while support indicates the actual role. Unlike the real deal, a company here numbers from fifty men to a hundred. A command comprises of four companies. Support indicates the roles of skirmishing, reconnaissance, gathering, and tending to the wounded.

Teslaide: One of thirty counties in the Empire. Also indicates one of the ten divisions of the Lionhearts. Inspired by the Teesside.

Mersey: One of the thirty counties of the Empire. Also indicates the only academy for the Lionhearts. Like Teesside, Merseyside is also real. Jeremy Clarkson got himself into trouble there before.

Lionhearts: Making their (less than impressive) debut in the first chapter. Also known as the Lions. The largest militia in the Empire serving as both town/city guards (during times of peace) and soldiers in charge of defending the Empire (during times of war). The only militia officially endorsed by the Empire, the Lionhearts were originally meant as a political move to placate the masses after the Fire of Romus (i.e. the capital of the Empire).

Smallborne: A term used for civilians and slaves alike.

Tynis; One of the thirty counties in the Empire. Inspired by Tyneside.

Wearsor: One of the thirty counties in the Empire. Inspired by Wearside.

Imperial Zoo: The only place where people can view animals captured in the wild or bred in captivity. In every major city or town, an Imperial Zoo can be seen.

River Tes: Despite the name, the River Tes is only one of the numerous distributaries branching out from the River Portia. As for the real deal...

Slammer: Slang for prison. And yes, there's really such a word with this meaning.

Saltsea: One of the two main trading hubs in Teslaide (the other being Cleftland). The only port town in Teslaide. As for the real deal...

Cinha: Basically my own version of East Asians. Which means they're my own version of Koreans+Japanese+Chinese.

P.S: Can't be bothered to rearrange the glossary according to alphabetical order. Need to sleep because I've yet to undergo a radical career change.

Add P.S: Ahnuld for the President of the United States ~~of California~~?

Final P.S: I will be doing some sort of experiment by upping the previous chapter before the current one on FB. Not on public view, but via the friends of friends option. Let's see how this goes.

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