Original Carved by a monster.

Spoiler

Please do not post in my thread.

Rulers of Lennith, your most important prerogative is to protect your citizens from the beings so named for their poison- Yirerft. When power cannot hold them within the sanctioned borders, only a sacrifice of life will satiate and destroy their collective stomach.



Bapheuftamist caught himself remembering a law he tried daily to forget. He squinted his eyes shut to rid the ghostly sign from existence, and to his satisfaction, the granite plaque disappeared. Long, deep scratches in the wall were all that remained to remind him of what used to be. He swiveled moodily away from the missing article, facing instead the only window in the workshop. The lengthening sun played with his new position upon his stool, throwing mid-afternoon shadows where he needed light. “Must I battle with the sun, before I am allowed to continue?”

He murmured, whilst creaking back and forth on his sitting stool. A few more shifts of his weight and he faced the only door that led out to the breezeway.

‘Good enough for now.’ The king thought, in a resigned manner. As it stood currently, Bapheuftamist had both a magnificent strength and a dispirited soul, the latter bringing about a choice to break the law.

‘If I could just-’

Bapheuftamist arched his thick claws a little more firmly around the mold of timber in his paws.

‘Concentrate on this blasted lump of coal!’

Contentment did not fill him at this moment, he needed more than just a hobby to arrest his unlawful wish of feeding himself to the Yirerft clan. With a slow slide of his claw a single scrap of bark fell off of the hideous clump. Feeling as though he could manage nothing more, Bapheuft looked up at the other figurines for a smatter of ingenuity. Steel shelves bolted to the right and left walls, crammed with statues, miniatures, or dioramas. But no desire to continue his work inspired him there. Even worthless yetis had been able to carve whom they had wanted to appoint for sacrifice.

Others gave into marriage.

His thoughts concerning his parents did not remind him of stability, but weakness. A true yeti’s divine endurance did not concede them to clutter the assigned workshop with objects of such frivolity. But if not for those artists, his adobe abode would have looked much different. Ugly even. He chuckled in a disturbingly cheerful way, reminded of his parent’s disgusting appreciation for research. They had both decided on Yirerft specimens as candidates for their field of study, when Bapheuftamist grew heavier than their laps could hold. The researchers lasted no longer than a meal served at time of twilight. He grew up not entirely alone, though still entirely unsatisfied.

“Dullness or food?” King Bapheuftamist returned his gaze to the wooden work-in-progress. He wondered if he were to be so cunning as to make an interesting pad-mate. A snail figurine didn’t speak to him in the same way which the alabaster statues did. "'They that flushed amber/ at praise from streaks of sunlight/ standing behind trimmed ivy bushes/ separating the garden rows.'"

His secret desire to make poetry startled him more than the absence of food that caused his stomach to whisper of treats already concocted. The yeti ignored both of these thoughts to try once more to sculpt even a reasonable resemblance of a creature over which he ruled. There might be a new hybrid race that he could have his guards bring to his porch. He only had to remain resolute, and then the work would be finished. He clawed at the wooden stump for a few more minutes before stopping once more.

“I am not so lucky, to be so foolish in my desires.” Said the beast. It was time to get up and give up. He thumped his ugly work against the stool, un-crossing his legs and landing toes first on the ground. With his rat-like tail now looped around his arm, the tidy beast made his way to the broom that leaned next to the door frame. Bapheuftamist dropped his figurine on the floor, sweeping up discarded wood chips onto the sloped and inefficient dust pan. Giving his art a sniff of resignation, he tossed the offending pile into the waste basket. The broom and now connected dust pan, he smacked against the wall nearest to the door. “I’ll start over. Make up something disgusting.” The bipedal wooden figure looked nearly human, and was therefore certainly worth a do-over. “Humans are rather plain anyways.” The yeti opened the door before him, deciding that since the bog hadn’t crossed his land entirely, he put off sending out his guards to collect a new inhabitant. His attitude changed greatly when the clawing stretch of hunger became more of a nuisance. “Head Chef Charlane mayhap, or Sous Chef Toole.”

He mused about who would in charge of making the meals this month, scratching his plated belly. It occurred advantageous to him to see if any of his workers could choose a design for the next sacrifice. Perhaps they had someone in mind, a being that happened to be both intriguing and a nihilist.

'An excellent personality for a short-term pad-mate to have.'

Shutting the workshop door with aid of his tail, Bapheuftamist mentally collected all his foul emotions from a pool of awareness to a place of ignorance. A walk along twelve feet of stone had a soothing effect on the king. Hands that felt useless were dragged on the glass-paned walls, his tail reaching for and soon opening the western entrance door.

 

Three creatures were in the midst of a transaction that looked to be going fairly well. Bapheuftamist watched them for a time, though he ruined a chance of joining in gracefully, by unintentionally dropping his tail from the door handle. He did not expect it to close so harshly, a hearty crash divulging the king’s position that startled one of the collared lizards, along with the female horned sheep. The more colorful, masculine looking lizard, hid his adverse feelings from the king, hoping he was not inspecting them for a sacrifice. As the bogs seeped onto more of the inhabited land, there weren’t many dwellers who would be willing to give him any unfortunate ideas about themselves. The feminine lizard remained focused on the chef sheep who no longer spoke to her, waiting for a sign to continue. He did want to talk to the head chef as soon as possible, so he greeted the nomads peacefully.


“Guests of Lennith!”

He bellowed, expecting both of them to turn to face him. Once more only one of them directed their gaze at Baph, the other needing the chef to direct her gaze, before she too gave him the respect of a bow. Head Chef Charlane smiled at Bapheuftamist and spoke to the nomads, an erratic tapping rhythm coming from her hooves as she snapped them to get the transaction back on track. Upon approaching them he could see that nomadic couple were handling a bag of considerable girth, while the head chef filled in orders on the notepad she held. Once beside the head chef, he noticed that the tail of the male beating on floor, making Bapheuftamist give his chef a puzzled look. She did not oblige him with an answer as the taller of the two nomads spoke up.

“Just a fortnight shall do us well. We shan’t need more food than the provisioned amount to supply our way.”

When the conversion of coins was handed back to the shorter nomad, it rhythmically tail-thumped out each coin that fell into its claws. Once she finished, they were both directed to the kitchen.

“Lloyd, exit back through the same door that you entered, yet walk around the south side of the mansion this time. Give your order to…” The Head Chef started snapping her fingers with no clear pattern. This did not work out so well for the shorter nomad, from what Bapheuftamist could see. The female lizard shuddered, unable to understand the code, if any, that the head chef was conveying. Lloyd’s claws gripped Charlane’s hoof with alarming speed, keeping it there even while their king glared suspiciously, not realizing what the gesture truly meant. Lloyd withdrew his be-robed claws, bowing again to the yeti. Once the snapping stopped, the shorter nomad tugged on the other’s robe, following this with a gesture to leave. Bapheuftamist realized her disability from these actions and spoke to the one who could reply.

“Forgive my Head Chef. She tends to snap when a word escapes her.”

Charlane handed the order from her notepad to the female, Kassin, deciding not to speak lest she forget something else.

“Think nary a thing of it, sire. We shall overcome.”

Whispered Lloyd, who finally beat his tail to grant Kassin relief in leaving the king’s presence. They both walked back to the north entrance of the mansion, leaving the yeti to speak about his own request.

“Chef, your King is hungry. I’d rather not frighten my guests again, so let us watch them from the balcony before we head to the kitchen.”

Head Chef Charlane bowed, allowing her King to lead her through the south facing hallway. The entrance had a shredded tree-shaped pillar on the left, and a rope entwined tree pillar on the right. Ropes were wrapped or knotted all the way to the ceiling where they stopped at a rather large sized hole. It wasn’t often that she had time to see one of the few slyly hidden doorways built into his bedroom, though the walls themselves held her attention much better than large holes. Carved Taiga landscapes drew her eye, despite not having a dash of paint to color it all. On their left, halfway to the two-flight staircase was a set of double-doors. After passing the doors, Bapheuftamist spoke first, keeping his mind off of food for a moment as they ascended the stairs.

“Tell me about the Plated Nomads.” He said at the first bend in the staircase.

“The taller nomad is named Lloyd, the deaf one is called Kassin. She is as skilled in exchange rates as Lloyd is with long lists.”

Charlane didn’t snap her fingers this time around, too careful to forget someone whom she had just encountered.

“So, you weren’t being rude to our guests when you snapped your hooves earlier.”

Charlane shook her head most violently at his teasing, causing the toque on her left horn to tumble onto her head.

“No sire. There was a great deal of Morse code that I have had to learn, through Lloyd interpreting for Kassin.”

The horned ewe fiddled with her hat until it was more snugly situated around the curve of the tip.

“I mean only to tease you, Head Chef. I did not understand her code at first.”

Charlane blathered in slight remorse, hoping he wouldn’t continue. Thankfully he asked no more questions as they had reached the top where a landing opened out to the balcony. Stepping towards the railing surrounding the edge, he paused to rest his tail on top. Bapheuftamist saw to counting the number of tents that were staked into his birth-granted land, beneath their vantage point. It was not very far to the ground, though high enough that a creature couldn’t simply step off the balconey to reach it. When he finished, he took a deep breath of the air. It smelled of raspberry cake and fried locust, one of which Bapheuftamist favored. This particular cake gave him a mischievously pleasant idea. But first he must put his head chef in a position to be distracted.

With a wave of his paw, he motioned for her to join him at the banister. The question he posed reeked of genuine concern.

“Chef, what do these plated lizards celebrate? Why my kitchen?”

Charlane wagged her fluffy tail nervously. The answer she knew would not please him.

“They celebrate not being chosen. They figured to pay my kitchen, instead of another. As a tribute to your kindness, sire.”

In her effort to defuse his attitude, she had referred to the kitchen as belonging to herself. While technically true and a matter of habit, it did not seem to be the best decision she made this morning. Bapheuftamist let his tail drop with a dramatic snap, communicating resentment towards her hasty wording.

“My kindness is giving their clans another peaceful century to live!” He stomped away from the railing, glaring at his Head Chef. He stopped at a wall that sectioned off the opening to the staircase. Charlane bowed once more, groveling to try and appease him. Bapheuftamist performed his part of the dangerous monarch quite well, though he felt a bit guilty to act in this manner. He crouched low as if to sit down, though he remained in a squatted position for longer than necessary. Charlane kept her wooly head down, wondering how many others would pay to keep their likeness off of the sacrificial figurines. When she continued her downward vigil, he confessed one of his troubled opinions.

“The fact that I didn’t carve one of their kind, is simply because I lack the skill to do so.”

With a rattle of her short, yet thick horns, the adult ewe tried to negate his response. She succeeded only in causing her toque to flutter.

“Nonsense milord! Your skill is not only to carve, for you certainly have other talents. Grand things that may keep you happy – busy even!”

With a grin, Bapheuftamist arched his back, glancing at Charlane before bringing his attention towards the railing.

“My dear Head Chef. You are absolutely correct. Please excuse me, as I take your advice.” Charlane looked up in happiness that lasted but a moment. It was not a skill that her king desired, but the raspberry cake. She knew this with certainty, as Charlane would sometimes see him from the garden, sailing over the railing on the balcony, to land nearby when hunger became too much for him. A horrid thought entered her mind.

A bit like the Yirerft. Always needing to feed.

This time however, there were guests visiting that did not know of this occurrence. The nomads might mistake his dangerous acrobatics for a surprise attack.

“Bapheuf- Sire! Your guests! Think of the fear you’ll inspire!” In vain she yelled at the king, who dodged her attempts to stop him from executing a most delightful leap.

“Think instead of the admiration for the skill of their king!” He yelled back, merely skidding to the side while she tried to head-butt him to a place of safety. The king continued his dash over the edge, where Charlane did not pursue him. Instead she galloped back the way they had come earlier. Hopping onto the staircase and performing her own bound off the first rounded corner, Charlane landed hastily on the next curve. Though still retaining some grace as she internally thanked the architect for not adding a banister to the stairs. Bounding to the bottom and not quite out of breath, she bleated for help. “GUARDS! King Bapheuftamist has leapt into the camp!”

She continued calling for assistance until two guards gathered in the hallway. It had taken a good deal longer than what she believed to be commendable for guards supposedly protecting the inside of the mansion. Surely the ones stationed outside would be better at answering her call.

“Quickly now, I need you to help restrain and clean up after Bapheuftamist!”

The two snapping turtles followed the head chef back down the beautifully decorated hallway, though she only ran halfway before stopping at a second set of doors. With nothing else but haste in her mind, she left the doors wide open. The guards stopped for a moment to look at each other.

“We should shut the door and bar it, just in case the nomads think to visit the manor without an escort.” Randy said with such surety in his voice that Irwan thought it best to agree with him. Charlane had other ideas, and a more powerful position as she yelled at them, “Stop fiddling with the door – move it!”

Startled into obedience, Randy along with Irwan left the doorway partly ajar to join her in the direction of the guard’s barracks. She did not charge toward the kitchen beyond the hills, as the brothers expected. In vain they tried to herd her up, but the ewe kicked at them, refusing to go their way.

“The barracks are closer!” She explained, running on all four hooves to her desired destination.

Charlane looked frustrated as she knocked on the door to the barracks, scowling at Randy and his brother when they caught up with her.

“No thanks to your late arrival, I desire more help. The kitchens will need a disturbing amount of cleaning done to satisfy me.” She grunted, trying to return her breathing to normal.

“I don’t think the captain will enjoy hearing that.”

Irwan muttered to Randy, who did not reply as a mossy-brown spotted gator greeted them formally. It took the brothers a moment to realize that second-in-command Hamilton, was not Granite. Charlane did not have time for their gaping, and told them so.

“Go back to being useless in the hall.”

She faced the tall gator, stating her business rapidly.

“Bapheuftamist is causing trouble, I need to speak to your leader.”

 

Chapter 2



Hamilton saluted her, leaving at once to inform Granite. Neither Irwan nor Randy wished to return to their posts, should the nomads need their assistance.

“We have duties to other creatures besides Bapheuftamist. Let’s leave and go be more useful elsewhere.”

Randy agreed with his brother, watching the head chef as she made her way beyond Hamilton’s reception desk. She would be distracted enough to not notice them walking in the wrong direction. They may have wanted to help, but the longer they dithered kept them away from a yeti confrontation. Hamilton on the other hand, wasted no time in directing Charlane to Granite. It being a Thursday, Granite would be testing some of the guards on their proficiency with different weapons. This did not stop Charlane from interrupting the test by sliding open the tall screen door which covered up the weapon room’s entrance. Hamilton had wanted to ring the warning bell for duty’s sake, yet he did not stop her from acting as she pleased. Had there been no emergency, he would have acted more respectfully. Fortunately, the sound of rolling wheels was enough for Granite to stop his demonstration. The crocodilian platoon leader twirled forward; his halberd dipped low in reverence to the head chef. His weapon rested but a moment before he flicked it back up to his side.

“Madam Chef, state your- “

He was cut off urgently by the head chef, who informed him of her business in the barracks. Turning back to command his fifteen soldiers, Granite relayed the plan with Halberd in hand.

“Five of my most perceptive guards will search the workshop to the north-west, for any clues to what King Bapheuftamist is working on-”

“He prefers wood and small chunks at that.”

The ewe spoke out of turn again, standing closer to Granite in an effort to make sure what she said wasn’t missed. She was certainly in a desperate hurry, even going as far as trying to command the Scales and Tails regiment herself.

“I need half a score to follow me to the kitchen for cleanup duty. The rest of you must accompany the group of five after they have reported what carvings they have found. If any.”

Although Granite did not appreciate his authority being usurped, he allowed her orders to be followed.

“Upon retrieval of the crafted block, we will find the species it more closely resembles, and bring it back within Aibel’s carriage.”

Charlane rattled her horns impatiently as he spoke, tossing her toque to the floor. The ewe gave her approval of the plan, adding in her own details when needed. After being assured that the species would not be harmed during transport, she escorted her group of ten towards the kitchens. Marching swiftly after them were Granite’s highest ranked scouts, who returned their blunted weapons back to the practice rack before leaving. With no one to teach the Thursday drills but Hamilton, Granite put his own weapon away as well. He moved unmistakably in the specialist’s direction until Hamilton thought the corporal would march right over him. Instead he abruptly detoured to the left, where the equipment closet held life-size models of certain creatures. The mannequin he took out looked intimidating despite its shoddy condition. The digitigrade legs swung loosely, the rat tail swished as if alive, the rodent face swayed brokenly on its thick neck. Through this yeti look-alike, Granite taught his guards how to subdue their master. While it wouldn’t try to defend itself, the hefty size and weight of it gave a pretty good idea of what some of them would have to struggle against. Hamilton watched him grunt through his workout, wondering what he hoped to gain from teaching a specialist-ranked desk clerk how to fight. Interested and not yet dismissed, the taller gator awaited instructions. Granite finished exercising painful restraints on Sir Stuffed, saying, “Do you want to fight the dummy? Or are you going to stand there and act as if you’re dumb?”

Hamilton saluted his vertically challenged leader, but did not reply. Once the mannequin had been knocked over, Granite spoke in a more relaxed manner.

“Remind me of those missing guards, I need to think for a moment.”

Grateful with his easy tone, Hamilton relayed what he felt to be important.

“Reporting two wayward turtles who escorted our head chef to the barracks. Their freedom from an assigned post caused them to delay a return to it.”

Though Granite did not come up to his specialist’s eyes, he commanded the platoon’s respect through a powerfully built body. In this instance he used it to lift the mannequin back onto its stand, shuffling the monstrosity to a corner where it would be out of the way. He pointed at it, going over details that many cadets had heard more than once in their lifetime.

“See that eight foot, two-hundred- and twenty-six-pound dummy? I can lay him flat, have him fall at my discretion.”

“It is an impressive skill, sir. Nobody doubts you.” Hamilton said, with respect in his tone.

Another pointing gesture, this time Granite pointed at himself.

“Then why would a pair of turtles under my command, not return to their duty station.” He hissed in a danger-laden whisper.

“An excellent point sir, perhaps we should question them. Though we would have to find out where they went, assuming they didn’t run back to the mansion.” Hamilton said, most casually.

Hisss. Grrrummph. The Corporal deflated and became genial with this advice, though he still retained some form of anger in the way of his tail cracking against the floor.

“Agreed. Speak to Aibel first about harnessing her carriage. She will bring it to the barracks’ front door. I want her ready for capture and delivery, when my scouts return.”

The specialist saluted him once more, turning about neatly and then stopping with a queasy lurch as a thought occurred to him.

“Corporal, you sent only ten guards to subdue our King. Is that…enough?”

Hamilton waited for either a reprimand for questioning his superior or a command to join up with Charlane’s group. Granite gave him neither, choosing instead to stand next to Hamilton.

“King Bapheuftamist is in no way a mindless fool. He may be stressed but he will not cause a skirmish to happen.”

These words proved to soothe the specialist’s fears, for he needed no extra guidance to leave the room, though he could not stop himself from ending the conversation as politely as possible.

“Thank you for the reassurance sir, I’ll inform Aibel with haste.”

Granite liked giving his soldiers their small moments of victories, so that they could also enjoy the times when they lost as well. He turned to stop the specialist from rolling the door shut, marching to place his curved snout in between the wall and the door itself. Specialist Hamilton smiled briefly, his face relaxing into the formalness of a bored yet disciplined soldier, while Granite spoke to him.

“Since you’re feeling a little flowery today, you will write an outline on obedience, for the two turtles to fill out later.” The corporal removed his nose from the space, rolling the door shut to end the conversation.



A pair of fools proudly marched southwards over a rather large hill. The prickled grass snatched at their webbed feet, as if in an effort to slow their progress. It worked long enough for them to check their surroundings.

“Do you think Kingie Baph would mind if we weeded his lawn? We don’t know exactly what is going on with him.”

Irwan used their king’s informal name, whilst he poked at the ground with his spear, dislodging an especially spikey weed. His brother joined him, clearly entertained by this diversion.

“We will do him some varied services. A good deed done in a short amount of time will put us in the right mood for more.”

Their weed piercing did not abate for more than a few minutes, though the sweaty work kept them from paying attention to much else. Unfortunately, this gave Charlane and her group the opportunity of charging into the gardening party’s path. She became more agitated upon seeing them picking at the ground like bored children with newly acquired sticks. Charlane lead the guards past them, not stopping to admonish their silly ways. Randy paused in his digging, wondering but for a moment why he would be hearing the sound of steel armor clinking against tramping feet. The snapping turtle gazed fearfully behind him as he soon became acquainted with a hat-less, scowling ewe. Despite his fear Charlane, along with her group of guards, did not attack him or his brother for leaving their post. Neutral sets of reptilian faces jangled past the AWOL twins. The group skidded and rolled down steep hills beyond either turtle’s pinched eye-sight. Irwan relaxed his own composure to parade rest, avoiding a clump of fern that slid down the shaft of the spear in his left claw. He wiggled it until dirt stopped falling from the top, giving his brother a filthy showering. Turtle faced turtle as they both came to the resolution of returning to the mansion.

“Now that we are both a bit messy, I think it to be a fine idea makin’ our own set off tracks.”

Irwan snapped his down-turned beak, snip clip! When he finished.

“West it be, bro. Stand still a bit.” snip snip.

Irwan the older brother advanced on his younger sibling, one claw gripping something unknown as he reached for Randy.

“I’m wise to your tricky self, Ir-waning of wisdom.”

Said the younger sibling, backtracking while keeping an eye on the mysterious, clenched claw. Still Irwan progressed, trying to place doubt in his twin’s mind.

“Shame-names from our childhood?” Snap. “All I had in mind for you, is a claw-shake.”

Opening his empty claw, Randy saw the truth for himself.

“Humph. Thought you were goin’ to throw dirt at me. My bad.”

They shook claws, with Irwan holding on just a bit longer than necessary. He then pulled his brother close, as if to hug him.

“A hug as weeeee-?”

“-umph!”

Randy shrieked from a betrayal that left him snapper first in the ground. It did not keep him down for long, with a practiced move using his spear; he both pushed himself upright and then vaulted into the air to land before his brother. The latter’s expression flipped from amusement to admiration.

“I swear to never, never use your shame-name again, if you show me how to do that!”

Randy usually wasn’t separated from his twin brother when they were on duty, so he couldn’t be sure of when Irwan would have learned such a neat skill. Being the younger brother, he obliged him with oral instructions while they marched dutifully for the mansion as several horns signaled the dinner hour. They were not bothered by another, smaller group which could be seen dashing in a south-western direction. Five of the most reputable reptilian guards, were careful not to make much of a spectacle in their hurry to the workshop. Though the group slunk quietly behind the twins, it made sense to march less quickly while in the vicinity of lesser ranked guards. Not many creatures had been given the right to the knowledge of the hidden back door to which they sped. Even fewer were those who wanted to say, “King Bapheuftamist invited me inside his workshop.”

Beings granted an audience inside the workshop often left in the back of Aibel’s carriage.

 

Chapter 3



Kassin reverted back to her normal means of speaking to Lloyd, by use of sign language. Morse code tended to be easier on other creatures when she stood still. Walking to the campgrounds made her claw signs accessible to anyone who attended their class on ‘speaking without sound.’ Currently she signed about her annoyance at not being able to get past Charlane’s snapping habit on her own. Drawn out gestures captured contempt for how she had reacted. By doing nothing, Kassin put all the effort on Lloyd’s tongue. Her claws shook as they had before, though this time she did so purposely, to make fun of herself. Lloyd did not share her feelings of regret, smiling while signing and speaking aloud.

“You do realize that I’m around for that very reason? I am your interpreter. Here to be your voice should something unfortunate happen.”

Kassin gave an exhale of air as loudly as possible, one of the few sounds she made. She mouthed, “I know.” And drew out the syllable of ‘know’ by tapping a claw firmly to her head several times. Lloyd repeated the sign himself, adding a few others in reply.

“I know, that you know. But you forget to allow yourself mistakes.”

Here Kassin made many misspellings of words that Lloyd couldn’t hope to keep up with. They hadn’t stopped walking among their fellow nomads, so no Morse code could be taken into consideration. Indeed, the deaf lizard merely signed faster when entreated to stop or slow down. Eyebrows and claws raised in confusion; Lloyd wondered what she wanted from him. He focused on Kassin’s face, jogging to pass her so that he could stand in front to block the way to the clan leader’s tent. She did not try to side-step him, though her claws remained upraised and rambled through several more phrases that mystified Lloyd. He waited for a pause, watching her countenance shed annoyance to offer a delighted grin. At once he knew what made her so happy. He signed briefly; his own skin brightening to a more golden hue of dismay.

“Last time I remind you to make mistakes.”

Clearly satisfied with her success, Kassin patted his spotted cheek. He allowed her affection to brighten him up before he spoke again. It also gave them time to see how far into the encampment they had moved. The worry of being lost didn’t occur to either of them, for nomads in orange robes had been charged with care of the grounds. Directions came naturally to these tangerine lizards, for they decided where the tents were laid. Lloyd signed his plan to Kassin, who nodded in assent as she stepped off the temporarily installed rug pathway. He stayed on the comfy rugs, watching the paths for a patrol of map-bearers who would be able to take them to the clan’s monetary monitor. Mealtimes made the map skinks jobs a bit more difficult, as more nomads crowded the paths than usual. Especially now, since dinnertime started soon, thanks to the reminder of a horn being played loud enough for all within a two-mile radius to hear it. From the way it reverberated off the hills behind the encampment, made it sound as if several horns played simultaneously. Alarmed at the surge of hungry reptiles, Kassin looked to Lloyd for interpretation of the situation. He mimed playing a horn, adding the signs for food being the reason behind their stampeding kin. She stepped further backwards in reply, not wishing to be in the way. Lloyd thought he might lose her if she fell back any further and began asking for directions instead of waiting for a skink to meet him by chance. A rather large shadow shaded the path for but a moment before a terrifying WHAM! Exploded around the corner of a square bottomed tent down the rug path to his right. Unfortunately, all the nomads who wanted to go that way suddenly changed their minds as a collective yell alerted Lloyd to more than what he thought was a cloud passing over his head. On the other claw, a few guide skinks ran unsurprisingly in their direction as well! In a dramatic fashion, Lloyd hailed the skinks, who ignored him save for yelling, “The king lands amidst us! We are food!”

Scabies take my hide! He cursed himself for taking too long in returning. If the banker had their money by now, the king could be eating lunch with the rest of his subjects. Though how the king chose to enter his courtyard…did not concern him at the moment. Being pushed further away from Kassin without being able to warn her, did. As more bumped or shouldered him aside, his back pouch jangled with the sound of coins. He tried to think of a way to calm the masses before they altered the pact by leaving too early or fighting. Yet again he felt his pouch jostled, and then removed by swift claws.

 

Chapter 3

Kassin reverted back to her normal means of speaking to Lloyd, by use of sign language. Morse code tended to be easier on other creatures when she stood still. Walking to the campgrounds made her claw signs accessible to anyone who attended their class on ‘speaking without sound.’ Currently she signed about her annoyance at not being able to get past Charlane’s snapping habit on her own. Drawn out gestures captured contempt for how she had reacted. By doing nothing, Kassin put all the effort on Lloyd’s tongue. Her claws shook as they had before, though this time she did so purposely, to make fun of herself. Lloyd did not share her feelings of regret, smiling while signing and speaking aloud.

“You do realize that I’m around for that very reason? I am your interpreter. Here to be your voice should something unfortunate happen.”

Kassin gave an exhale of air as loudly as possible, one of the few sounds she could manage to briefly hear. She mouthed, “I know.” And drew out the syllable of ‘know’ by tapping a claw firmly to her head several times. Lloyd repeated the sign himself, adding a few others in reply.

“I know, that you know. But you forget to allow yourself mistakes.”

Here Kassin made many misspellings of words that Lloyd couldn’t hope to keep up with. They hadn’t stopped walking among their fellow nomads, so no Morse code could be taken into consideration. Indeed the deaf lizard merely signed faster when entreated to stop or slow down. Eyebrows and claws raised in confusion, Lloyd wondered what she wanted from him. He focused on Kassin’s face, jogging to pass her so that he could stand in front to block the way to the clan leader’s tent. She did not try to side-step him, though her claws remained upraised and rambled through several more phrases that mystified Lloyd. He waited for a pause, watching her countenance shed annoyance to offer a delighted grin. At once he knew what made her so happy. He signed briefly, his own skin mottled to a hue of dismay.

“Last time I remind you to make mistakes.”

Clearly satisfied with her success, Kassin patted his rose spotted cheek. He allowed her affection to brighten him up before he spoke again. It also gave them time to see how far into the encampment they had moved. The worry of being lost didn’t occur to either of them, for nomads in orange robes had been charged with care of the grounds. Directions came naturally to these tangerine lizards, for they decided where the tents were laid. Lloyd signed his plan to Kassin, who nodded in assent as she stepped off the temporarily installed rug pathway. He stayed on the comfy rugs, watching the paths for a patrol of map-bearers who would be able to take them to the clan’s monetary monitor. Mealtimes made the map skinks jobs a bit more difficult, as more nomads crowded the paths than usual. Especially now, since lunchtime started soon, thanks to the reminder of a dinner horn being played loud enough for all within a two mile radius to hear it. From the way it reverberated off the hills behind the encampment, made it sound as if several horns played simultaneously. Alarmed at the sudden surge of hungry reptiles, Kassin looked to Lloyd for interpretation of the situation. He mimed playing a horn, adding the signs for food being the reason behind their stampeding kin. She stepped further backwards in reply, not wishing to be in the way. Lloyd thought he might lose her if she fell back any further and began asking for directions instead of waiting for a skink to meet him by chance. A rather large shadow shaded the path for but a moment before a terrifying WHAM! Exploded around the corner of a square bottomed tent down the rug path to his right. Unfortunately all the nomads who wanted to go that way suddenly changed their minds as a collective yell alerted Lloyd to more than what he thought was a cloud passing over his head. On the other claw, a few guide skinks ran unsurprisingly in their direction as well! In a dramatic fashion, Lloyd hailed the skinks, who ignored him save for yelling, “The king lands amidst us again for battle! Make ready to depart!”

Scabies take my hide! He cursed himself for taking too long in returning. If the banker had their money by now, the king could be eating lunch with the rest of his subjects. Though how the king chose to enter his courtyard…did not concern him at the moment. Being pushed further away from Kassin without being able to warn her, did. As more bumped or shouldered him aside, his back pouch jangled with the sound of coins. He tried to think of a way to calm the masses before they altered the pact by leaving too early or fighting. Yet again he felt his pouch jostled, and then removed by swift claws.

 

“Thief! Mongrel, -Kassin!”

For once, she didn’t say anything back to him. Money pouch in claw, his friend ran with it to a hilltop where King Bapheuftamist had apparently landed and then leapt off again.

He did not waste time ruminating further, joining Kassin to help her…help her hold up the bag of money?

But few stopped to ask her why she seemed to be offering gold to the skies. Her plan failing, she urged Lloyd to interpret her words. His voice calmed the nerves of those who decided to stop to watch their show.

“Plated kin! Kassin bears the coin of King Bapheuftamist. He is not here to stop us!”

Klink, clink.

The hefty bag of coin jangled to show its weighty truth in gold. Hunters bearing purple robes argued quietly over his claim, though their boss spoke up for them.

“Then why does the king seek to terrify his guests by pouncing amongst our tents?”

Kassin brought the pouch down, a look of confusion on her face as she could not follow the conversation they were having. Embarrassed at not sharing the hunter’s opinion immediately, Lloyd began translating a shortened version of what the chief asked.

Her claws pinched together twice, before her smallest claw tapped at her forehead.

“No idea.” She signed.

In annoyance he growled, which soon became covered up by the roaring of his empty stomach. A sudden idea came to him then, which he spoke and signed to all the lizards before him.

“Perhaps King Bapheuftamist is hungry!”

The hunters laughed at this statement, though none could deny hearing the dinner horns that had gone off earlier. Lloyd continued his speech, hoping it would end any rumors from spreading.

“We are all famished, let us join our king at the dining hall. We’ve certainly paid for it.”

True to their peaceful nature, the lizards who crowded the valley beneath their position departed for the dining hall. His friend nudged him, reminding Lloyd of their task by swinging the coin bag gently. He nodded, signing to her that he would follow once directions were attained. Plus, he still wished to say one more thing before everyone left.

“Alas I have but a single question for any skinks who remain.”

Six Skinks looked at each other, came to an agreement and five went off with a proclamation of, “The king is here to feast among us! Do not fight, do not flee!”

They chanted this as one, spreading truth throughout the camp. Only a blue-tongued navigator remained at their convenience, who made himself useful by recognizing whom he spoke to. Knowing the sign for hello, he made use of it for Kassin’s sake. She had taught him “money”, “coin”, along with “This way, please.” A sign he used now to assure them that he knew just where they needed to go. Both of the apprentices eagerly slid down the hill to be brought to their master’s tent so leg-achingly fast, it felt like they teleported there. Quirth marveled at his kin’s ability to get lost in so simple a setup. At the tent flapped entrance, He accosted them with a reminder on how to get here again.

“From the northern hills, forward. Pass one row, turn left.”

“Thanks much, we’ll get it eventually. “

Kassin started to move past Quirth, who put his arm out to stop them. For politeness’ sake it worked, though she became grumpy.

“You were lost.” They nodded; his arm went up as a playful smirk creased Quirth’s face.

“Glad to help you keep your job.” Kassin signed.

Like a magic trick his smirk disappeared, blue tongue fully extended. Quirth didn’t need Lloyd to interpret it. He did want lunch, so he took off to save his own place at the dining hall.

 

Chapter 4



Thick, steaming tendrils of hot air wrapped ghostly fingers around their lungs, reminding them of home. Humidity caressed their cooled scales, luring them closer to bank master Vaughn. Here he spent all of his time whenever Clan Tumbleweed traveled outside of the desert. Among familiar scents and a pleasant temperature, the apprenticed duo bowed to him, throwing in words and signs of apologies for being late. Vaughn accepted neither of their excuses, dipping his tail into a downward crescent motion. Kassin stopped trying to explain, instead she allowed the bag to sag in between her claws so as to not touch the poisonous tip of his tail. Nobody rushed a scorpion, no matter what matters pressed their minds for later plans. A quick sting stabbed the bag, yet Kassin remained still- her eyes being the only things that dared move. She didn’t breathe out until Vaughn hefted the bag a foot above her head, a gesture for movement to be permissible once more. Lloyd watched him reel in the tribute carefully, before Vaughn cast out his tail behind him to an open chest. He dropped it with a flourish, nicking barb from bag to clatter just the coins into the bare coffer. The ripped draw-string bag shuddered like a captured animal’s skin, fluttering into ash as it burned among the hot coals that lay in an iron bucket. Vaughn clipped out their dismissal in Morse code.

“Faster next time. Duty fulfilled.”

If a scorpion could smile, he did. His apprentices gave him queasy grins in return, leaving as quickly as they should have arrived. He would have to teach them about punctuality when they left King Bapheuftamist’s land.



Though for now, he decided that sweating in his tent didn’t hold the same charm as eating and sweating.

‘Most of the clan members are busy dining, whom do I call on for servitude?’

Vaughn spat upon the coals heaped next to him, enjoying their brief flare up in heat. He didn’t want to leave the tent, but his legs weren’t broken. Atrophied perhaps, which could be easily remedied. What good is counting coin unless you reap other benefits from it?

The elder scorpion rose up on his six legs, sidling past the offering chest which clicked shut with a well-placed back claw. Somber emotions tainted Vaughn’s heart as he searched for the lid to his precious coal bucket. Despite knowing exactly where it lay, he lingered in the warmth of his spacious tent until he felt as if sand were covering him. Grasping the lid with a thick claw, Vaughn placed it reverently on top of the coal bucket. Waving farewell to his treasures, Vaughn clattered backwards out of the tent and onto a rug that tickled a few spines on his legs. Afternoon sun-shade spoiled some of the heat he tried to retain while taking a shortcut to the kitchen.

‘Brrr, methinks a Skink could navigate my person through brighter passageways.’

Scuttling steadily around tent poles kept him away from clan members who returned from their breaks earlier than the reptiles without jobs or whelps. Feelings of kindness graced Vaughn’s heart, as he crawled through patches of well-laid sand. He knew that a skink had deposited these warm spots of coal and sand to remind Vaughn that he was respected. Normally a skink would bring him food at the appointed mealtimes, but everyone he might have depended on today, stopped showing up after breakfast.

‘Gotta have more of these hot spots around the camp.’

Vaughn click-clacked past the base of a dirt-tilled hill, wondering whom had torn up the turf in such an odd manner.

‘Perhaps this is the reason of their negligence.’

He inspected grass-crushed tracks which lead to the dining hall, making note of their width and shape as he lifted barbed tail in preparation for a defensive strike. No venom dribbled from the tip, for he held back reflexively until his last leg crossed the border between their encampment and the king’s front lawn. Though the scent of honey-roasted insects teased him to be less than stealthy in his approach to one of the southern windows, he remained focused on keeping his large body low. Except for his tail, a dangerous reminder that someone had the clan’s protection in mind. Vaughn inclined himself slowly upwards to peek in the window, startled at how clean everything looked. If the bearer of the large paw-prints wasn’t around, he did not need to be so cautious. He might have continued his walk into the kitchen if a rather aggressive looking group, headed by a lamb, hadn’t rushed for the front doors of the kitchen. From their armor he assumed they were the king’s guards. Though why a lamb without armor would be leading the group, puzzled him enough to join them. Perhaps Vaughn had been correct to think about enemies tramping through the encampment. Though another scenario formed in his mind while he walked over to them.

‘What if they were hungry, and just upset about it?’

 

Chapter 5



“Peaceful greetings to all armored and pelted. Excited for lunch?” The sheep stared with widened eyes at Vaughn, the guards forming a tight square around her in retaliation for his sudden appearance. He became highly aware of another small bead of venom that filled up, yet wavered above his head. Flicking the death drop casually to the side, Vaughn tipped his tail reverently. One of the guards spoke to him, choosing to keep her spear low.

“You look plated. Are you of clan Tumbleweed?”

“Yes, though I often am a bit more secluded than at present.” Vaughn sniffed the air loudly, smiling in his crooked manner with mandibles spread wide. He over-acted to attempt friendliness with the guards. They reciprocated, if not warily at first.

The hat-less sheep in the midst of them asked him another question, moving around to better see Vaughn.

“Plated warrior, please assist us.” Her hooves flicked to the side twice, motioning for the watchful guards to step aside. Five guards side-stepped to allow her though, joining the other five behind her. She thanked them, looking at Vaughn for an answer. He tried not to click with laughter, as he replied, “I’m actually the clan’s banker. Though I will certainly make myself useful for you.”

Ever the one to be grateful for a helping appendage, Charlane introduced herself along with what she planned to do. Frankly, the idea that King Bapheuftamist’s rampage could cause terror among his clan, did factor in on how he treated just the sight of a large beast’s paw tracks. It made him worry, though only momentarily.

“I haven’t seen anyone making a fuss in the kitchen or dining hall.” He said, thinking about his puzzlement earlier. Charlane took his comment seriously, realizing her error. With no command given to the guards at this point, they remained at parade rest, though not silently. Several guards voiced their opinions on the quiet atmosphere, becoming a bit petulant for being brought out of training for a mistake.

“Scorp’s got a better idea of what’s going on than we do. Dinner is almost over by now, but I’m sure we’re all famished.” Said Yarnmote, looking for compliance among the other guards. The rest of them agreed with her, asking Charlane to allow a break to be given before they returned to training. It didn’t take a genius to figure out the right thing to do, so the Chef bowed and apologized for her hastiness.

“Today is an excellent example of what to do in an emergency. I’m sorry this exercise is something to learn from in the future, instead of being a measure of safety on my end.”

After finishing, she trotted up the stairs to access the front doors, partially keeping them closed as she indulged herself with a constricted view of the inside.

“Well. It does look like clan Tumble is having a nice enough time with their king.”

Yarnmote joined her side, tapping Charlane’s horn to remind her to step aside. A reluctant baaa echoed from the now open doorway, into the dining hall. This reluctance changed to a surprised bleating that caused the creatures seated to focus on the noisy ones entering. At first it looked like the problem lay with the scorpion, who scuttered further into the hall. Shouts of “Venom beast?” “Guards!” clamored from various diners. Their appeals for safety became cheers of happiness when the guards entered next, as if teleported by their cumulative desire. Though he wasn’t shackled or tied down from what everyone could see. Confusion rallied the diner’s voices together into a call for information. Some reason why a beast more dangerous than Bapheuftamist walked forward to the king, his own guards and a chef in tow. Sous chef Toole stopped serving raspberry cake, clanking his serving utensil for silence. King Bapheuftamist rested a paw on his hip, holding out a small plate in the other paw. His ear flicked backwards to keep track of what happened behind him, whilst he prodded the plate forward, not turning to face the new entrants. “Please serve your king.”

 

He knew one of the reasons why the guards were here, and didn’t want to make the situation escalate by interfering if Toole could handle all of his subjects for the moment.

“Another serving, your highness.” He whispered, precariously sliding a second slice onto the king’s plate. Toole leaned to the side with one flipper keeping his balance on the floor. Hoping the head chef was the only sheep present, he stopped trying to look around the king and moved from behind the buffet table to find her. The sous chef greeted the guards and spoke quietly with them. Bapheuftamist ate his cake in quiet happiness, choosing to lean against the buffet table instead of sitting on a chair. His manners remained a visual guide to all who previously had been standing in defensive positions, encouraging them to remain calm. Though the sous chef rejoiced at being united with his head chef once more, his ability to stay by her side to patiently listen to all of their stories began waning. With nobody serving, and the rest of the kitchen staff too nosey to continue their duties, they needed a command from authority to calm everyone. Explanations could always happen after those present were at least in a mind to listen. The king didn’t help much in that respect, he only wanted to eat cake… which gave Charlane an excellent idea, one which she spouted immediately for everyone’s benefit.



“We will eat raspberry cake and then discuss the venomous- “Here she paused and asked something of the scorpion. They conversed for but a few seconds, with the head chef returning to her previous statement while snapping her hooves together. “Our guest, the banker, Vaughn!”



The guards and Vaughn who had yet to eat, cheered at her proclamation; joining the citizens of Lennith as well as those of the sand, to sit on the cushioned benches situated on either side of long stone tables. Some still complained about the lack of varied dietary choices, encouraging Bapheuftamist to tease them. He exaggerated his delight by eating the cake with his fangs exposed. His grimace startled them into silence, though they still looked unhappy about their situation. Toole questioned the menu, thinking of what he could have made while the head chef had been busy with the nomad’s coin carriers.

“Surely there is more prepared than dessert and a snack, Head Chef?” Charlane lowered her horns in frustration, the poor lamb’s day being filled with so much stress. Now even her subordinate was challenging her.

 

“I-you need not apologize. I will work with the staff to create more dishes.” He bowed to the king who thanked him for serving cake, along with order. Once he turned away, the lamb charged at Toole, bucking him so that he flew towards the doors to the kitchen proper.

She bleated savagely at him, “Since you have an issue with what was served, go and fix the menu yourself!”

The minor staff watching at the door fled from their vantage point, running back to their stations to prepare for the creatures who would be bringing in fruits and vegetables from the gardens. Though they worked, the kitchen staff committed to their tasks slowly, waiting for Toole to be rammed beyond the gates and into their midst. While it wasn't often that the head chef bucked her staff around the kitchen, there were times when even her patience measured no wider than a hair from an ear of corn.



Fortunately for Toole's butt, the king intervened for him, striding in front of Charlane to stop her from punishing him in such a manner.

"Toole, you better hop faster!"

The guards cheered to see someone else get thumped, glad to have followed the head chef this far for entertainment, despite the false alarm of a skirmish between nomads and the king. Toady Toole did not spend a second to question his superiors’ orders, bounding with more than his casual fervor for the sake of his arse. Deprived of a lively show, the now standing crowd of creatures audibly lamented such a treat being diverted. Bapheuftamist hoped to give them a better reason to be delighted by catching the charging ewe by her horns. Without her hat tucked under her horn, grabbing both to steer her aside became a task that he couldn't have asked to be any easier. After wrestling with Charlane for a moment, he restrained her under his arm. With the action over, the whooping and complaining slowly diminished to relaxed chatter. Flexing his small, rounded ears to hear the diners’ exchanges, Bapheuftamist soothed his head chef, as she had tried to do for him, earlier that morning.

Conversations nearest to Vaughn's table reminded Bapheuftamist of his duty.

 

What I wouldn't give to see that lamb whump that toad's backside again.'


'It were a mighty funny show, perhaps the king will put on a drama for us.'


'That rat behemoth, a king? He and his closest are a touch awkward.'


Ruling as a mediator between creatures and humans against the acid of Yirerft, made the king feel the same emptiness which cake could not quite fill. He looked down past Charlane who had quieted, to his slightly distended stomach which ached for nourishment beyond that of sugared treats. The ewe's legs and arms swung loosely beneath the lamb as silently as her own voice had become, to Baph's surprise. He expected her to resist him, and when that failed, to ask forgiveness of both mistakes that he had made today.

"Char?" He prodded her side, loosening his grip to shift her so as to place her back on the floor. This movement prompted a sudden release of breath from Charlane.

"Baaaaaaa-pheuft-amist!" She panted, holding her matted sides while trying to breathe more normally. The ewe stood up shakily, taking the paw of her king to help raise her weary self.

"Your grip, too strong."

Combing her wool with his claws, Baph tidied Charlane until she looked presentable, feeling sorry for having held her too tightly.

"Apologies, Char. My mind wandered." He frowned, herding her through the kitchen gate and back to the staff she was usually in command of. Today she needed to be relaxing, despite how well Charlane said she felt at the moment. Slicing and cleaning the many fish required for dinner today, would be passed on to Toole to supervise. The workers of the kitchen paused when they were politely interrupted by the king's entrance.

 

"Please excuse my break-in. I wish for the Sous Chef to take temporary command until the Head Chef's mandatory vacation is finished." He waited briefly to answer any questions the staff might have, smiling gently at Char to make this decision feel like less of a demotion based on her previous actions. Toole lifted his rubbery upward in acknowledgement of the king's comforting idea, taking that moment to ask a question. "How long are we to continue -braank– without –braank- her? We can handle some time apart, though with the nomads visiting it will be a tad-pole difficult."


Charlane looked up at the king, grateful for a break, though unhappy to be without her favored job on such an occasion. She watched them; a staff unsure of their hushed conversation, her head bare without the authority toque hooked on her horns.

Baph noticed his chef patting her head absently, both of them wondering where she could have lost it. The king scrubbed her woolen back in comfort, speaking to Toole in a voice that all could hear, as he did so.

“If necessary, she will lend her hoof after our discussion. Otherwise, she will accompany you with her perceptive eyes and wise words for a month.”

Toole bent his awkward knees in a crouching bow, then leapt around the kitchen, giving orders to staff to begin on the healthier choices of dinner. “Bring the fish in, and set up a line of cleaners!” Bapheuftamist put off searching with Charlane, to watch the prep work.

“I want a quarter of you on vegetables, two on washing dishes, and the rest to work on plating, serving and taking diner’s orders!” The bull-frog hopped to the longest table in the kitchen, while some of the lower ranked staff grabbed filet knives and forks. When they were assembled, he pointed at the first two workers in the line. "Sam and Frank will cut out the filets. Pass them on to Edith and Larry, who are gonna be skinning them for the de-boning group.”

Those in line waited for more fish to be brought in, working at a moderate pace with what they already had. Toole joined the fish porters to help pick up the pace, giving out more commands when enough buckets had been brought in.

“Different buckets for the boneless filets! Diff-braank-rent Bu-braankets!" Tooled croaked the more disturbed he felt, checking on the other staff as he did so. Demoted Sous Chef Charlane politely asked her king to step out of the kitchen, stating that perhaps the staff were nervously making mistakes since he watched them with so dour an expression on his face. He acquiesced, whispering another poem to himself on the way out.

“Working steady/not quite ready/diners hungry/for all, for more.”

Charlane watched him walk away, saw his mouth moving, but couldn’t quite grasp what he was trying to say. He looked disgusted when he stopped, probably thinking of something that did not please him. "Your highness?” She tried getting his attention before they made it to the table where Vaughn sat. "Sire if there is something you wish of me...” Charlane waited for him to repeat himself. Confusedly he looked her way, passing his paw through the air to silence her.

“I want nothing. I will speak to Vaughn before we begin our search.”

Bowing both to his decision and to him, she walked behind him quietly. Once at the table, the king spoke to Vaugh about his needs, anything that was within Bapheuftamist’s power, he would grant the scorpion. Vaughn didn’t ask for a physical item, choosing instead to have any question he posed, answered.

“Perhaps his majesty would explain why the guards were in such a defensive formation, why I heard a panic near my tents earlier?”

Bapheuftamist answered what he knew first. "They may have become frightened by my routine landing exercise. I often leap from my second-floor porch to reach the dining hall.” The scorpion nodded, thinking back to the paw-prints which imbedded the ground outside the kitchens. He was going to prompt the king to answer his next question, but Charlane surprisingly spoke up first.

“The soldiers were led here by my command.” All the creatures nearby stared at her, wondering what her true mission had been all this time. Uncomfortable with her king’s eyes narrowed at her, she spoke more to the floor than those listening.

“I rightly assumed that Clan Tumbleweed would panic if you were to exercise your routine for lunch. I went to the barracks to try and slow you down, but you are a swift beast.”

“Mhm.” He said nothing more, so she continued.

“I was so terribly stressed today that I wasn’t fully thinking of the consequences of bringing an armed force with me to hold you down if necessary. Your highness did not show a great deal of happiness earlier, so I suspected you had trouble with your carv-”

Charlane stopped short of mentioning his failure that he had mentioned during a moment of sadness. Those who were listening closely, understood what she had kept out. But Vaughn being unfamiliar with the king’s family traditions, became puzzled. He too faced the king, hoping to get another more interesting riddle figured out.

“Would the king permit me to ask of what your sheep speaks not of?”

“No. There are other things which I must take care of.”

 

Vaughn clipped a claw in salute, saying nothing more of the matter. The ewe however, had much more on her mind than looking for her hat. Unsure of how to speak to the king about the second group of sneaking guards without infuriating him, Charlane chose the tactless route of speaking out of turn once more.

“Majesty, there are two more groups which have been sent on a mission to guide you in the correct direction.”

Unfortunate news colored Bapheuftamist’s face into a scowl that did not easily melt away, no matter what techniques the king tried to calm himself.

“Continue, Sous chef Charlane.” He growled.

“A second group is, by now, finished with their task at your workshop.”

Bapheuftamist cracked his tail upon the ground in an effort to control the volume of his voice. It lashed a cup to pieces, causing the diners sat at the table to take up seats elsewhere very quickly.

“The third group?” Although his back faced them while he picked up the shattered mug, his voice was loud enough for every guard at the table to hear him and shudder.

“To Aibel.”

Crunch. The king ground the pieces of the mug in his hefty paws, twisting them together until it became a pile of dust. He rotated to face them, cupping his paws upwards until the dust was level with his mouth. Confused yet entranced, his audience watched what he would do.

Is there going to be a fight?​

Blow it right inta her eyes!​

That dummy Granite has doesn’t do tha Majesty any justice!​

Bapheuftamist blew the dust out towards the door-way, returning his paws to his sides and sighing. He kept his eyes on the doorway as he spoke. "They are as the dust to the wind, swiftly gone and without a care.”


Phew, that felt poetic.

Wasn’t real good though.​

Yah, could use some work.​

Turning back to his guests, Baph smile apologetically to those near him. “I am the mediator. There will be peace, regardless of Yirerft.” Inclining his head to Charlane, he apologized to her as well. "I acted harshly, and I will make up for it by treating you with respect in the future. You will be given your own praise party for your hard work. I'll let Toole know."

He spoke louder this time, addressing the entire dining hall for his usual farewell comment.

“Yirerft shall be quelled!”

Everyone who knew the returning phrase repeated it, shouted it.

“We shall abide in peace!”

 

Yet the king added an addendum to bring a more enthusiastic response from his citizens.

“The Yirerft shall cease to exist, per the law of my deceased Grandmother, First Queen of Lennith. No further sacrifices will be taken, no longer a hierarchy necessary.”

O o o​

Cordal, the leader of Granite’s special task force, spoke freely with his teammates in the safety of the king’s workshop.

“Gamble, Zerp. Take a lunch break. You’ve both done well keeping our tracks scant. Bert, report to Commander Granite that King Bapheuftamist has scrapped the traditional sculpture for refuse. Me an’ Kip will cover the tracks leaving the ‘shop.”

Bert shrugged, happy to see some action despite it lasting only a short while. “Guess Granite’ll have to be satisfied with a mission failure.”

Kip’s pink eyes were crinkled from his smile, glad to the bearer of good news to Bert. "Ya dolt. Cordal is going to speak with Aibel about ‘claiming’ a sacrifice anyhow.”

Surprised, Bert, Gamble and Zerp stopped in exiting the workshop through the floor’s trapdoor.

“King Bapheuftamist doesn’t need a sacrifice.” Said Bert.

“He’s powerful enough on his own.” Followed up Gamble.

“Why’s he carving then?” Zerp questioned.

“King Baph is bored.” Cordal stated, shoo-ing his comrades down the ladder. "Aibel will understand. Just take your time returning. No use rushing to the dining hall if all is well by Granite’s standards.”

“Quit pushin’ then!” Zerp demanded.

“He’s right though. Granite woulda wenn along with the group of ten if he thought the king were to be a danger to his guests.” Gamble mentioned, waiting patiently for his turn to climb down the ladder.

“S’good idea. Maybe the king is lonely.” Bert tried and failed to look learned as he said this, throwing his clawed paws around when Kip and Cordal laughed at his notion.

Before going down the ladder himself, Bert called the two giggling gators the most intelligent sounding insult he knew. “Insufferable dolts.” They laughed again at his attempts to ridicule them, only calming down once the other members of the task force were well beyond hearing them. Quietly Cordal bolted the door back down, moving the large stone slab back on top of it with Kip’s help.

“I got it.”

“You’re welcome.” Kip sneered with mock seriousness.

Using the broken broom to sweep the some of the dust back on to the floor, Cordal then opened the breezeway door.

“You’re welcome, Pearly!” He teased the indifferent albino gator who took the broken broom from him to toss back into its spot. Thanks to being riled up from the shame-name, it clattered down in nearly the same way it was left. Cordal looked impressed.

“Huh. Actual nice job, Kip.”

Pink eyes crinkling once more, Kip said nothing, exiting the workshop with his comrade. From the breezeway to the main hall’s front doors, the special force guards rushed to get back outside where they slowed down to a sneaking march on the way back to the barracks. Beyond the barracks sat Aibel’s carriage stall, where the huge tortoise normally slept and worked. Hamilton stood outside the barrack door, greeting the group briefly to move them on more quickly to Commander Granite. With careful diction, Cordal made his team’s report known to the commander, who thanked him before releasing Cordal to take dinner with the rest of the special forces. When they left, Granite gave the same command to Hamilton, who happily left his post for the meal he looked forward to after breakfast ended.

 

Granite enjoyed visiting Aibel by himself, as they were more comfortable in each other’s company. As according to the law, both of their hatch-mothers had chosen their specific eggs to be of aid to the royal yeti family. The rest of the egg-spawn were allowed to live as they pleased, assuming that neither of the chosen failed in their duties. And while Mixed-with-stones started out bigger than Able-to-work, she outgrew him as slowly as she walked. Though once his siblings rose above as well, their shame-name for the stunted brother pecked at his inner scales more fiercely. With time, their siblings moved on to lands beyond the Yeti’s reign, the two reptiles uniting together for more reasons than just growing up. They respected the king, yet neither felt any less guilt from continuing their family’s tradition of capturing creatures. Even with the knowledge that King Bapheuftamist continually contained the Yirerft within its shambling bog borders, and so had no apparent need for a sacrifice, their ruler took no mate. What a more agreeable beast could the king be, if his temper were tamed with love? The commander posed this question to Aibel, after sitting for some time in patience while she hitched herself to the well-decorated cart, which many creatures reviled. The smooth birch planks fitted together to form an illusion of zebras galloping. The golden wheels were the plains in which the wild horses lived. This gift to the first tortoise in Aibel’s lineage declared a previous ruler’s gratitude for Evan’s willingness to serve the yeti hierarchy without an opposing opinion. She chuckled at the irony, in the same way she laughed at her friend’s suggestion.

“Sometimes a mate doesn’t bring happiness. Perhaps other yetis grow tired of the killing tradition, and so have fled from his majesty’s proposals.”

With practiced discretion, Commander Granite looped belts through metal hooked hoops where his friend couldn’t quite reach. He sagged on the grass, speaking of other reasons for the king to search with more energy for a mate.

“Without a future guard raised to take my place, the guards would become silly, idle, or may disband. The king may desire to keep them for the protection of his subjects, but they do not desire to remain under him, sans constant guidance and correction.”

Aibel nodded, having heard the guards chatter about boredom or familial ties during lights-out.

“They will learn your obedience. A few already do their best to crush the ill ideals of the younger ones.”

The short gator got up, smiling slightly at the conversations his troops unconsciously whispered within her range of hearing.

“I appreciate your ears.” He paused. "Perhaps this sacrifice will change him.”

For a moment, Aibel remained solemn. “I will bring a new being to the king.” She joked with her friend to bring him some small amount of happiness. " Or perhaps there are females of his species who have not ears to hear of the tradition he follows.”

Granite followed up with his own sarcasm. "Perhaps she will be blind as well.”

The gargantuan tortoise grinned, praying for such a beast to cross her path a short way through her journey, so as to return quickly. Coming forward, Commander Granite bathed her in water from the barrack’s personal well, clearing her shell, plastron, and feet of dirt. A rather large hole usually kept her from over-heating, but Granite wanted to treat her with a scrub-down that went beyond what she could normally reach by herself. What wouldn’t come off easily had to be scrubbed before she left. Bapheuftamist used to complete the honor of cleaning Aibel for sacrifice trips when he had been young, but his parent’s foolish experiment turned him away to his life’s true task as ruler. Tracking and controlling Yirerft to keep the shambling mound within its borders.

 

Scrape, scraape.
Startled by the rougher sound of his claws against Aibel’s carapace, as well as her heavy weight bumping him away from her, Granite landed on his tail.

“My fault. I’ll grab the brush.” Granite said, picking himself up.

“Mind is on the mound.” Aibel commented, not begrudging him for the worries many creatures feared to even recollect. The brown and sage colored gator excused himself with a weary sigh, giving the tortoise a faint salute as he marched to her decorated shack to get the grooming supplies.