[Mouse Guard] The World Is A Stage IC

[Unrest]

"Rain and thunder let out the ringing call
For every able mouse to speak, to act before
Gone is our play, lest the play is gone,
And we see that it was folly, folly all along."


"Are you and Tessie done with the flowers and the boys through with the flags?"
"Yes, father!" cried the two small brownfurs, in the eyes of the old bard more like two dirt-coloured shadows dashing restlessly from one place to another, adorned with a palette of all flowery tints to be found in the Territories. Rather than confirm with his habitual, characteristic "Very fine", he sighed at the thought that he may have the most beautiful and plastically talented offspring most ever beheld, and yet cannot see them or their works as anything more than puddles of varying hues.
"Father!" called one of the tired boys, walking up to the elderly bard Conne, "I wouldn’t believe it if you didn’t have a song ready."
"What kind of song, son?"
"About today!"
"Sit, then, and tell me of it."
"But I know you know all about it, and you don’t need to see it to know what to say of it!"
"I do," replied Conne with a chuckle, "but you know I want you to paint with words, too."
"So there’s," said the young boy, having sat on the ground with a thud, "From atop the ground that caps Lockhaven, the citadel of the Guard, domain of Sadelene Thsa Il- Ilane," the boy stumbled, seeing his father squinted his eyes at the last words, "from atop the plume of the stone helmet of Lockhaven, you can feel the breeze this night’s storm left; the air makes pleasant the outdoors, and bearable the heat the Sun of the cloudless July sky bestows upon those that are today to celebrate the passing of the Guard Kensing Laurel Ailrid. The dirt under our feet is soft and warm, still, like, vibrating, alike a membrane, with the water that fed it at night-time; the whole of nature is lush and lively, yet pensive, with us celebrating and mourning at today’s event."
"Fine, Cody," said Conne, smiling, "Only two things. The first, you’re still way before the moment you arrive at where I will leave off the art of words, but that’s understandable. The second, dear son, go fetch your eyes from out beyond the walls, you terrible landscapist! You’re sitting in the middle of the citadel’s main square!" Cody hugged his father with a laugh and ran to some unspecified place only children can find.
"Though yes, I give you that," said the elderly bard, after the Territories’ most renowned painter, Acrea, approached him and laid her similarly white head on his shoulder, "The breeze is indeed marvellous. Isn’t it just the perfect day? Were it not for the fact that your and our children’s decorations blind the Sun, darling, I would rather we held the ceremonies out of doors."
"You know we cannot…"
"Sadly, I do. Though something in my nature tells me that it is not creatures that are dangerous, but the space where mice cannot run to their safety."
"Coward."
"Idealist!" They hugged closer.

On 15th July 1168, four years ago, guard captain Kenzie – husband to Sadeleyne, Matriarch since 1166 – was assassinated in his quarters in Lockhaven by a radical, an enemy to the system of trade and administration based on Guilds, of which Kenzie – or, today, ‘primeguard’ Kensing Laurid Ailrel – was a supporter. The murderer up to this day remains uncaptured… though that does not necessarily mean that as a result of trials and investigations no mouse was sentenced to prison or exile.

What the Guard today concentrates on, however, is the celebration itself; to make sure there is no possibility for anything to go wrong, both regarding organization and security. With the ceremony beginning at dusk, in a little over six hours, all preparation is finished and the Guard now stands vigilant, with their eyes, ears and noses wary of all possible disruptions. With Sadeleyne’s drive to make it an event with as much gravity as the equinoxes and solstices, and certainly the single most important occasion not related to nature, a representation of any settlement you care to name is there – and since these guests occupy most of the town’s beds, Lockhaven’s residents are temporarily taking the deeper quarters. There are swarms of mice everywhere, Guards, tradesmen, officials, Lockhavenians, and even common mice from many other towns, camping just outside the citadel’s gate, who wished to take part in the celebrations, and whom the Matriarch welcomed as well, or even more than those bound to participation by status and affluence.

It would not escape anyone looking from without the city that the day was an important one – to any mouse in her own way, of course, but to more than one could expect a deeply personal, emotional date. The fortress is full of sound and colour, and a mouse rarely knows which source of either she should pay attention to…

Describe where your guardmouse is to be found. Perhaps you paid a visit to the apiary or to the hare stables, or anywhere else you might have deemed necessary for this or other reason? Maybe you are wandering around the main square and double- and triple-checking whether the platform from which the celebrations are to be directed is safe? Maybe you are standing in some high point, surveying what you see? Maybe you are waiting in front of the guest quarters, waiting for some official you wanted to ask about your hometown or about panterritorial matters?

Of course ask any needed background information. I will be providing most of that through dialogues with other mice.


- the game's OOC thread (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?p=10407462) -

[Totally Guy]

The young guard mouse Beagan was following his patrol leader Ethelred.

"Where are we going this time? Do you think there are weasels about? Is that it? I just know there is going to be trouble!"

Beagan slowed.

"Oooh, Ethelred, you're a wise mouse, much smarter than me. If you give me some proper orders, like the ones the top mice give you, I can go off and do what you've told me to do. I can handle these things. Then I can learn to be as wise as you!"

Beagan looked up to to see what Ethelred's response would be.

[Human Paragon 3]

Ethelred walked his patrol, as he'd done countless times before. He knew the city of Lockhaven like he knew his own body--everywhere it the city was sore, everywhere it bent funny, every way it wasn't as great as it was in his youth. He was comfortable in the city, had spent most of his career there, and knew what it was capable of. He knew what it needed.

Today, it needed the guard. So he walked his patrol.

Walking patrol wasn't something Ethelred did too often these days, but today wasn't just any day. As he looked around the city, packed with more mice than he'd ever seen together before, he instinctively knew that the guard was in over it's head. There were too many mice, strange mice, to ever carefully watch. Sometimes he felt like he knew every mouse in Lockhaven, but today the city filled with visitors. It had become a veritable shanty town, and Ethelred felt a stranger in his own birthplace. No, if somebody wanted to cause a scene today, there would be little the guard could do to stop it. As always, the key would be to react to problems as the arose--which they assuredly would.

But, a pound of prevention and all that... The guard's greatest power in Lockhaven was the image of the guard itself. A strange-fur staring down a guard mouse would think twice before pulling any chickanery. That's why it, more than anything else today, it was most important for his comrades to be seen. That's why it was important for him to be seen. And that's why he walked his patrol.

He was passing over the wall now. More than anywhere else in the city, the wall gave good perspective. He could look over his right shoulder and see the city and its inhabitants clogging the square. He could look over his left shoulder and see the tent village that had formed there. But more importantly, they could all see him.

A young guard mouse nipped at Ethelred's heels. Then again, they all seemed young to Ethelred these days. This was Beagan, a mouse he'd known well as a tenderfoot. A good guard, but obsessed with Weasels.

It was no weasel that killed Kensi--sorry, Kensing. You'd be wise to remember that. It was a mouse just like the thousands down there, and today it should be mice you're worried about.

As for me being wise, I'm just old. Sometimes it's easy to forget the difference, but really there's no such thing as a wise mouse, only wise actions. You want to be wise, act wise.

I know you're fully capable of running off and looking for weasels regardless of what you've been told, so I'll give you the same "orders" that I myself am following. Walk your patrol. Be seen. It's important that everyone know the Guard is present and doing its best to watch the city.

Oh, and do watch the city. Be vigillant. A lot of strangers here today. No way of knowing who's suspect and who's not, so assume it's everyone. And if you see real trouble, do sound the alarm.

[UserClone]

Blanche stands next to her mentor in the center of the town square, enjoying the sights, sounds and scents of the celebration to come.

And yet it is obvious by her slight fidgets and her wandering eyes that there is someplace she'd rather be. Finally, she simply blurts it out:

"Ethelred, may I go and visit my father's stall in the market square and see if I can help him?"

[Totally Guy]

"Hmph. I'll walk walk the rounds then. I'll be watchful."

Beagan hurriedly scrambled off to the market place. He stood tall so that he might be visible and conspicuous. He raised his ear and listened out for certain words that villains might say.

[Human Paragon 3]

Ethelred hadn't been mentoring Blanche long, but long enough to know that the tender-paw wouldn't be able to concentrate properly on anything until she'd made sure her father was doing all right.

Yes, go on, see your father. Send my regards. But remember that you have responsibilities to the guard; don't linger there for long.

[Unrest]

Beagan went on to carry out his patrolling duties in the main fortress square; through the spiral staircase and a door at the base of the powerful gate, he emerged right next to where the mice have been pouring in and out of the keep, passing under the several sets of iron teeth of the gate's bars. Above the sea of mice now going about their business in Lockhaven he saw the platform in the middle of the main square; at about two yards' height - a head taller than he was - it looked like a flat, lone island, avoided by the waves which were the mice's heads. On it stood two guards, from there surveying the crowds. Beagan thought he could recognize who that was; a guardmouse and a tenderpaw, and not ones he could say he was particularly fond of.

First scanning far and wide, and then close and in detail, his eyes swept over a number of individuals: going out were an elderly woman carrying a basket with weeds; a young girl with a huge petal-bouquet, probably something for one of the officials; a mouse with a wide hat, dragging behind him a cart with what seemed like hoods and capes, but much too big for mice to wear, and outlandishly decorated; a patrol guard, Melthorp, with his prized mahony halberd, and next to him an official from Sandmason the name and position of which he couldn't now remember. All that just a small part of a myriad of faces...

***

Blanche was also one of those passing the Oakside hero as she walked out of Lockhaven and into the tent village; it was there that all the stalls that did not sell food and the like had to be located, as they would simply not fit into the main square of the fortress. Leaving the sultriness of Lockhaven's inside, she was refreshed by the cool breeze as she crossed the drawbridge, and quickly found herself approaching the stall at which her father, the head of the Barkstone Glazier's Association - the term 'Guild' was rather unwelcome since the official termination of the panterritorial guilds a year before - was supervising negotiations his exports minister was conducting with an interested party from the North. When he saw his daughter he raised, seeing the talks in good hands, and stood with her beside the stall.

"And how, my Thissle," he addressed 'his brave girl' endearingly, "how is Lockhaven doing? Malady Sadeleyne doing well with all the administration she has to do?" Blanche knew that while he did approve of her joining the Mouse Guard - heck, was even said to be voicing his pride about it when she couldn't hear - he also had a resentment towards Sadeleyne's political decisions, and often enigmatically said that, "curiously, after the Guilds got disbanded a year ago, the number of mice skilled at books and numbers in Lockhaven increased, oh I don't know, three times, at most." He likely knew what he was saying, being a mouse of trade, but it wasn't necessarily easy on the ears of a guard.

"Oh, and I think you know who's- ah, there she comes!" he said, with his chin pointing at Elspeth, his wife, coming from between the tents - as always to be seen with a records book in her embraces.

Anything to say to your father specifically? Something particular to say to your mother? Inquiries, news?

***

A short while after the young guardmice left Ethelred, the greyfur was called on by a low voice that seemed to shake ground itself, and yet flow around smoothly as a summer evening's wind; a voice belonging to someone who even in the darkest of night could be well discerned against anything other than snow - and against snow, could not be at all, even in full daylight, and even by the best scout.

"Aethelred!" said Spalding, coming out of the corridor that led from the ramparts into the wall. The guard captain's mentor supported his limping right leg on a walking cane, but Ethelred knew the old warrior could do just as well without it, and otherwise the swiftness of his moves was a testimony to that. His voice was also strong and lively despite the occasional puff - not unlike the one Spalding was enjoying now. The flawless white of his fur was strongly contrasted by the similarly flawless blackness of his cloak.

"Isn't Lockhaven the prettier this time of year that we have- Oh, what is this tent-village monstrosity! And oh, I can not clearly see anymore. What do you see there, Scout?" he said with this tone of absolute seriousness that was so unlike his nature; as one patrol guard once said to Ethelred, the reason Spalding was the Territories' second best fencer was because he was just such a jester, a trickster extraordinaire, and you could never tell what his next move will be - plus, as usual with such individuals, he was a terribly intelligent mouse overall. This elderly, respectable mouse with great-grandchildren with a naturally stern look on his face, a low, thunderous voice and a swordarm that allegedly fell two weasel heads in one swing was just that - a man who could turn every conflict into a play and the whole world into a joke.

"Then, Scout, what are you going to do with the apiarist collusion to assassinate the Matriarch today?"

Two very different personalities indeed.

Spalding, the Duke of Fencers


Since he finished his apprenticeship in "times immemorial, under a mentor who was so old that even death forgot about him", as he himself put it, Spalding has been regarded as the best swordsman to have ever walked the mouse lands; he allegedly duelled with the Black Axe, three times, and each of them ended in a draw. The first time, because they fought in heavy rain for so long that his sword covered with rust and eventually broke; the second time, because the Black Axe had a fit of coughing, and they had to stop and treat him with potions and elixirs for nearly a season; and the third time they had to break the duel because the seagull on which they fought grew tired and fell into the sea.

The only duel he lost was one with Saxon in 1155; hearing of the redcloaks victories in many battles with animals reckless enough to face him (and duels with mice arrogant enough to face him), he set out to find the then-travelling guard and prove to him that there could only be one never-defeated mouse. Spalding found his opponent near the Scent Border; Saxon never commented on the fact that Spalding claimed they fought on a sleeping wolf, and that after they lost the pack that was chasing them, they climbed a bear that was hunting for fish in a river because both of them refused to fight on steady ground. The only comment Saxon made of the fight was that it indeed was only when the "sun was in Spalding's eyes" that he managed to win and disarm him.

After the duel Spalding stalked Saxon for a month until the victor was finally begged into chipping off part of Spalding's ear for him as a memento of being defeated in single combat; the red-cloaked warrior made a steady cut that resulted in an angular 'S' shape. While it is not the only scar on Spalding's body, it is the only one he is not ashamed to speak of, and does so, in fact, quite often.

[Totally Guy]

"Hey, you with the hat!" yelled Beagan leaping after the wagon puller. "Tell me about the cloaks. Those aren't for our kind, do you consort with the weasels?"

Then a thought struck him... What if this was the stable lad for the hares for the joust... But it was no matter he'd started his accusation. He'd damn well stick by it or look a fool in front of his peers.

Either way he was technically be doing what Ethelred had told him. Everymouse would know the guard's presence was proactive!

Beagan glowered under the mouse's hat to see if he could be identified.

[Unrest]

The brownfur rapidly turned to Beagan, and raised his eyes at the guardmouse. He pushed the hat to the back of his head revealing his straightforward face and eyes, neither betraying any intent or ability to deceive.

"These are Barkstone's, guards," he said, addressing the guardmouse like westerners do; Beagan now could remember he recognized the mouse sometimes showed up in Lockhaven with guardmice who came from around Barkstone, and that he usually brought general grassroots news from the West. "As in, these are weasel hoodies," he pointed to the heap and lifted the corner of the cloth under which lay the cloaks. "They are to be processioned over at the celebration for Matriarch, as in, gifts from Bark' to Lockhaven. I'm taking 'em out, and I earlier took 'em in for the night to the keep, and am now taking 'em out to our tents, and we'll fasten 'em up to flagpoles. And procession them."

It made some sense. Beagan had some knowledge of the rituals at various events across the Territories, and the gift-giving was well in stock for an occasion such as this, and he knew that all those gifts went into the keep in order not to keep the valuables in the tent town. But if it had to be weasel hoods... He would have the impression it was mainly the Guard itself who fought weasels, so from where else could they-

"It is alright, Beagan," said Melthorp, squeezing through the crowd and coming up with his swaying walk. "I've him on good authority, and actually I'll make sure," the yellowcloak gave the cart puller an earnest look, "He gets where he is meant to get. You're quite the spotter for weasels, aren't you now, Beagan?" he added with a laughter, and took the cart together with the brownfur and they joined the outwards flow of the river of mice.

[Human Paragon 3]

Ethelred smiled bemusedly. Some mice never change, and with Spalding, that was a good thing. He hoped he would be in as good a shape when he reached his Senior's age, and half as well thought of and liked.

These visitors clog up the place, but they're a stayed bunch. Everybody seems to be behaving themselves for now. I had the pleasure of watching a tiny drama unfold between an over-amorous gentlemouse and a younger version of yourself, but Keeghan stamped out that little fire before it turned into a tumult.

When the whitefur mentioned the Apiarist plot, Ethelred's heart momentarily jumped into his throat, but surely this was one of Spalding's little jokes.

Ah, there's a fatal flaw in their plot. The Matriarch is not allergic to bee stings. But seriously, why say a thing like that today? You're tempting the fates with that remark.

[Fri]

Among the preparations for the celebration, a rather plump old mouse can be seen cheerily chatting with workers that are currently unloading some barrels and crates out of a cart.

"Aww... come on, Matthew. Not even a single drop for a starving poor old mouse like me?"

"Sorry Barwick. This is for the ceremony" Says a young mouse as he unloads a barrel of wine. "Besides, shouldn't you be working somewhere?"

"Ohoho. But I AM working." The older mouse laughs. "I'm currently assuring the safety of the food and drinks! Can't have the matriach losing her face by finding out that we don't have enough food for everyone because some cheeky weasels stole them right underneath her nose, can we?"

"Rest assured, Barwick, we have enough food and drinks for everyone. Although currently I'm more concerned about mice rather than weasels."

"I'll be standing guard here for you then." Barwick grins. "So, what news from the road? Any town that finally decides that they got enough of mice and join the weasels? Any robber-with-heart-of-gold starting to tax mice that travel through the forest?"

Barwick sighs in content as he leans on the stable's wall. This is how mice should live. In peace, between friends, amongst the preparation for a celebration. And he's here to make sure that no one are messing this up.

[Totally Guy]

Beagan watched Melthorpe leave and let out a little grumble.

"I hate it when busy bodies like Melthorpe make me look foolish. And it's all because I listened to Ethelred."

Beagan pondered a little longer.

"I need cheering up. Where are Barwick and Blanche? I'll look for Barwick first as there are only three or four places he would be, where there's food, where there's drink or where there's music and stories."

So Beagan left the gates of Lockhaven to visit tent town and find his companions.

[Unrest]

"My dear Ethelred, that's what I have been doing my whole life," grinned Spalding "Tempting fate is the most adventurous endeavor I've found on my way up to the threshold of death's house." He coughed theatrically.

"Well, the apiarist may be not the traitor this time. Oh, and this girl... well, woman, and not that young, but you know how they always seem to me... Eilren. The gray captain, like you, with a golden cloak, so unlike you." From an informative point of view, that was completely unnecessary. Everyone knew who Eilren was. "That woman," Spalding carried on, leaning over the wall as if trying to see if there is some eavesdropping mouse under the crenellations, "she's something so bizarre even I can't think I've met another of her kind. She seems as though a sister to Sadie in some respects, and in some she's her complete opposite. She sometimes seems to be the opposite of herself, doesn't she," He sighed. "I think she would be compassionate in torturing you."

"I mean, I did see her with pincers once somewhere near the armory. Her hand clutched them like she could pinch the whole world's neck with them, but her eyes said that it would be the last thing she would ever want. Hmpf. And don't you entertain the thought your old mentor's grown lovey-dovey," he smiled one of those smiles that could annoy the spirit out of anybody, "I'm not a fool to lose my head like others do. I make them lose those heads, hehe," he patted on the hilt of his sword. A good dose of macabre from Spalding, the sign that the day was indeed promising.

"Anyway, I believe it's a shame she actually has poor chances to become the next Matriarch. Sadie won't choose her. Politically she's just the opposite. Who, then? Sadie's only got a son, and apparently refuses to have another. Kenzie's such a big figure, now. The only mouse to have his own personal holiday. Oh, except for me, of course; I've got my holiday all the year round. Everyday someone draws a sword to let blood flow, it's my day." He chuckled.

"Where are you going to stand during the ceremonies, Ethelred?" he said with a different voice, "What's your post? Packing a bow to make pin-cushions of those weasel assassins or taking just your eyes?"

As a guard captain, you have the privilege of going wherever you want during the ceremonies for security reasons, but from where you will begin observing the event? Again, as a privilege of one of the guard's eldest, it's up to you.

***

"Sir Barwick," says a pup about twelve years old, bringing Barwick a cup of wine, apparently having scouted some already opened barrel among the tents, "There are a band of robbers that do rob mice of their grain in every town a grainmerchant passes! They call themselves customers... or custom-mice... or something! You should be able to handle them, I heard you once took out two armed bandits with just a pan, sir Barwick!"

"I, for once," said Dirk, the baker of Lockhaven and Barwick's senior, "heard that you should be somewhere much more inside the walls, much more covered with flour and much more Busy, Barwick." He intercepted the cup, took a healthy gulp, and then gave it back to Barwick. "Ugh, not very good."

"Sorry sir, that's only worker wine," said the boy.

"Oh, and the workers drink worse wine than those for whom they produce? Well, come to think of it, that's how it crumbles recently, doesn't it now." The retired guard shooed the child and it went away. "I hope they just don't grow to accept it's the way it should be. Though I haven't been at school for quite some time now, but that's what the wheats sing of. Speaking of Crumbling, Growing, Teaching and Wheat," he accentuated these words carefully, looking Barwick in the eyes with his stone-drillers, "how many loaves have you failed to bake today, Barwick, hmm, while loafing here?"

You didn't really have explicit orders to sit there and help prepare fresh food, since you are still more an on-duty Guard than cook - and not a young-un anymore to whom he can speak like he wants to, especially since he never was of a higher rank and is retired now. Dirk tends to see you as his quite able apprentice - if less dedicated to making food than eating it - that should put make most of his efforts in the Guard in the kitchen.

***

Beagan took a while to get out, with the crowd flowing through the gate both ways. Just past the drawbridge he heard a yell from behind, and after that a splash; in the moat was one pretty angry mouse, paddling and spitting for a second, and then ascending the moat's outer bank and swearing. Seeing Beagan's cloak, he toned down the swearing, but approached the person that he thought pushed him off the bridge - a mouse also about thirty, maybe thirty-five, both tradesmen, the wet one with the carpenter sign on his garb, the other with the blacksmith insignia. "Here we go again" was a thought that just had to go through Beagan's mind - and through everyone else's - seeing another instance of two normal mice acting upon that animosity that wasn't even there before the Guilds were formed, and apparently grew even bigger after they were gone.

The carpenter shouted, in response to something the blacksmith must have said: "Oh yeah? If that's the wood that's wet then I'll blow that fire right out your furnace, sweaty!"

It is not unfrequent that there are brawls between carpenters and blacksmiths, and a Guard's duty is always to maintain order.

[Totally Guy]

"For crying out loud. You tradesmice and your petty squabbles!"

Beagan hopped up onto a nearby box in an attempt to attract the attention of the quarrelling pair.

"You two ought to be ashamed of yourselves!"

Although Beagan didn't truly see the incident he had a conclusion to jump to. The rivalry between the two former guilds was the cause.

"The rivalry of your trades is a vicious cycle, like a snake that bites its own tail! You see that by participating in your feud you draw in other mice and make it normal to future generations."

Beagan dared not look around. He could only hope that he had gathered enough attention for the peers of these two to pressure them into ending their disagreement.

"Listen up Joiners and Smelters; Mousekind cannot flourish if we undermine ourselves in this way. By working together Mice of the Forge and Mice of the Mill can build. By harbouring animosity, you destroy. And as a wise mouse once said, "We don't want to survive, we're going to thrive damn it!".

Out of a kind of insecurity deep down he touched the medal pinned to his cloak and felt it against his paw.

"I mean, they wouldn't give a medal to a mouse that didn't know this kind of thing!"

Beagan pointed at the shiny disc upon his sky blue cloak and let it glint in the light. Would this seen as youthfully endearing or ignorant of real tradesmouse work?

I believe I'm testing Oratory here. I'm not putting in persona. I'm not using any trait. I am however using Beginner's Luck as Oratory is a skill I don't have. That's half my Will rounded up. 2 dice. Likely vs Will of the crowd.

[UserClone]

Why do you necessarily have to be testing anything? Isn't it the GM's job to call for tests...?


Blanche was also one of those passing the Oakside hero as she walked out of Lockhaven and into the tent village; it was there that all the stalls that did not sell food and the like had to be located, as they would simply not fit into the main square of the fortress. Leaving the sultriness of Lockhaven's inside, she was refreshed by the cool breeze as she crossed the drawbridge, and quickly found herself approaching the stall at which her father, the head of the Barkstone Glazier's Association - the term 'Guild' was rather unwelcome since the official termination of the panterritorial guilds a year before - was supervising negotiations his exports minister was conducting with an interested party from the North. When he saw his daughter he raised, seeing the talks in good hands, and stood with her beside the stall.

"And how, my Thissle," he addressed 'his brave girl' endearingly, "how is Lockhaven doing? Malady Sadeleyne doing well with all the administration she has to do?" Blanche knew that while he did approve of her joining the Mouse Guard - heck, was even said to be voicing his pride about it when she couldn't hear - he also had a resentment towards Sadeleyne's political decisions, and often enigmatically said that, "curiously, after the Guilds got disbanded a year ago, the number of mice skilled at books and numbers in Lockhaven increased, oh I don't know, three times, at most." He likely knew what he was saying, being a mouse of trade, but it wasn't necessarily easy on the ears of a guard.
"Lockhaven is well, father. Thriving, even. The Guard sees to it that its home is well taken care of, you know that...but I'm certain that your figures there are exaggerated. You didn't raise a fool, father, and a fool I'd be if I followed one who followed her greed before her heart."
Blanche's mouth tightens, and just as her brow begins to furrow in disapproval-


"Oh, and I think you know who's- ah, there she comes!" he said, with his chin pointing at Elspeth, his wife, coming from between the tents - as always to be seen with a records book in her embraces.

"Mother! What a delight! What historical documents have you to study today?" Blanche's face warms considerably at the sight of her mother, for though her father taught her both his trade and his sense of honor, it was Elspeth who taught the young tenderpaw how to listen to her heart and whom always demonstrated a sense of compassion and warmth that compels everymouse who deals with her to like her, often in spite of themselves.

[Human Paragon 3]

I've agreed to lead an honor guard during the ceremony, I'm afraid. I think it started out as someone's idea of a joke during the planning committee, "Let's have an honor guard of the bravest mice line the parade ground." Somebody suggested me to lead it, seing as I'm retiring this year. As if they were doing me a favor by putting me in this hare and beetle show. But of course, I couldn't say no.

It's funny, you think when you reach a certain age you've finally earned the right to dissapoint a mouse or two, but that's not how it works. If one of us oldfurs skips out on tradition, it ripples, and maybe two patrol guards decide to stand at ease during colors, and then four guard mice, and then eight tender paws, and those tender paws age up and bring that attitude with them and...

Suddenly it dawned on him that he was babbling to his old senior.

Suffice it to say, I will be in a place of "honor."

[Totally Guy]

"Oh, come on, how can you still be looking at each other in that way after I've said all of that!"

Beagan, not one to be discouraged continued his tirade of speech.

"By taking up my time like this you're endangering every mouse here! I stop dangerous things! So really you feuding workmice are to blame for pretty much everything."

He knew he was saying it all wrong but he had to win this one. So he'd raise the stakes.

"The guard have this vision where we all work together. And if you're not part of that vision then you are the problem. So stop the violence or else the guard will... uhhh... No that's not what I meant. You know what I mean! Behave!"

[Fri]

"And not only that, young 'un. One of them has arms as big as you! And the other has a scowl that makes snakes slither to their hiding holes. And it's not frying pan actually, it's one of Lockhaven's finest bread. It seems that they never heard the saying, 'An army is only as good as their bread.' And who has better army than Lockhaven?" Barwick grins cheekily toward his old senior.

"That's quite a news." Barwick put his paw on his chin. "Stop worrying little one,"he pats the young mouse on his head. "I'll be sure to take a look at this 'tax-mouse' problem and teach them good old Lockhaven discipline, just like what Sir Dirk here taught me when I was a youngster!" He swings his paw. "I can still feel the lesson now when I sit down..."

He then turns his attention to Dirk. "It's just that I thought you have enough assistant already regarding baking bread. Why, they even said that they might work faster if I'm not there! So I thought I might patrol a bit, since this is such a nice day and all. But it turned out that each corners had been prodded at least twice... I wonder what time is it now? Is it the time for the main event yet?"

[Unrest]

"I found a records book, and it details the Fall exchanges between Sprucetuck and Appleloft, and now, would you imagine that, in 1147 it was a common practice- oh, I'm starting to babble before I even said 'hi'," she laughed in this whole-hearted way only people who can truly laugh at themselves know. "Blanche, Dear, hello, how have you been? That was a long four months."
"Someone has been scavenging around the Sprucetuck ashyards again and found a book he could trick you into buying?" remarked Holland, looking somewhere distant.
"He is a legitimate bookkeeper and I have known him for long."
"Long too long..."
"Darling, how was Spring? I can see the Guard is keeping you healthy."
"Between getting killed in battle and freezing over in the blizzard, it does a pretty good job of that, yes."
"HOLLAND! You were a Guard yourself!"
"And I know that it isn't for everyone, that's the point. Though these days, trade isn't, either, for most, what with it being wrought from the paws of tradesmice and put in the hands of traders, which are-" he paused, seeing his wife's steely gaze, "curiously... not the same."
"You know," Elspeth turned to Blanche again with a warm smile, "that I'm always proud of what you are doing. You're helping all the mice in the Territories, and that cannot be said of all those who do things for money. But, between help and self-sacrifice, I trust, you have time to read?"

"Oh, and I thought you might be happy to see another familiar face," she gestured behind her, and from behind the tent emerged Allain, a cartographer working under Elspeth, and not simply another mouse from Barkstone Blanche knew; he approached with steps doubly certain due to the presence of Blanche and her mother, and one time uncertain due to her father's.

"Ah, our young cartographer," said the glazier loud, smirking, "How many roads must a man walk down to make the perfect map, now? Pity there is not much to graph left, is there? All trails are blazed, all paths are found; maybe save for the overlake lands." He meant Ranntad, mice territories only recently made contact with, and quite infamous for being less than fond of foreigners. "Though I heard few go there and even fewer come back."
"No fear, mister Thistledown," said Allain as brightly as he could, ingoring that last remark. "There are undescribed lands even between Lockhaven and Barkstone, and just now we could be standing over a river of liquid glass that we know nothing of!"
"Let us hope there are no such wonders of nature anywhere nearby. Or at all."
"I figured," said Elspeth, squinting at Holland, and then turning to the young mice with a look in her eyes that only a mother can have looking a pair of two young mice, "I figured you might want to talk a second now that you haven't seen each other for that whole time."
"Guard duty rarely entails-"
"Holland."
"Elspeth."

"Hello, Blanche," said Allain, seeing the older mouse turned his head thoughtfully toward the ground, "How is your service going? I'd think that Spring and Summer time are less strainful than Winter... especially with such a great holiday!" He skidded with the intonation a bit, and sounded as if he missed the point about it being the commemoration of an assassination.

You cannot yet hear what is happening at the drawbridge. You know that your father is not very fond of Allain, unlike your mother. And the boy will more than likely have a talk with you. The rest of the characterization of these mice is up to you. You can lead the situation to a test roll if you have an idea how to, or choose not to, it's up to you.

***

"They chose the gray mouse in a gray cloak to lead a silent honour guard? Sadie's really far out these days. Let's just hope she doesn't go any farther, allergic or not, I want her to outlive me. Then again, I don't think I'm ever going to go... Say, is my elderly sense of hearing now in possession of information regarding some turmoil on the bridge?"

Of course, Ethelred has been watching the situation for a while. He blinked several times to make the sight go away, but yes, he saw that the person who apparently made the crowd swing was the one brandishing the Oakside medal.

***

"Patrolling to see if none of the supplies are trying to make a dash for freedom, and heroically intercepting them on their way to the door, yes?" Dirk chuckles. "And apparently you've been sleeping until noon; if you know you have slept too long," he said, sententially, "you will feel you have slept over twice as much as you did. No, there is still time to get everything done," he said wandering around the tent, looking for something good as well, "You're one of the most peculiar ones I know. The bedtime hero. Apparently nothing much," he approached the open part of the tent and looked outside, "but kind of a big thing when there's a call." He squinted his eyes at what he saw outside. "Like this kid over there."

Beagan, who stood on a box looked like a warmonger trying to stir the crowd into mercilessly beating itself up.

"Yes. And apparently we will need that time," he uttered gravely, and at that precise moment both he and Barwick noticed that the crate Beagan stood on was some fine Ivydale wine.

***

At first, the crowd at this end of the drawbridge flowed to the side, then to the other, then stopped, then trembled slightly; and then started shaking with laughter, rising like a springtime river.
"Ethelred's goldmouth, isn't he?"
"That was quite a speech. Haha!"
"Comedy gold!"
"I feel really in touch with my communal nature!"
"Hey, come on, he's kinda right..."
"Is there a scribe here? Is there a scribe here?"
"Yes, here! What?"
"Put it down, stupid! That's bound to go into the chronicles!"

Then, someone put a nail into the crowd:

"Well, isn't that some wooden speech comin' out his mouth!"

That, in itself, wouldn't be very aggravating. The problem was, the hammer came just a second later:

"Hey, it's still better than if he was spittin' molten metal at us!"
"What did you say?"
"What you heard I said!"
"Well everybody look, here we've got a noisy gob even better!"
"What?"
"Tell it to the gob and we'll see what noise it'll make out of yours!"
"Hey, calm down, the guard's quite right-"
"And what's your part in it, rocky?"
"You bloody quarrels and all your-"
"Shut up, grains."
"Hey, hands off, brute!"
"Don't I know you from somewhere?"
"Hey, here's a guildie!"
"WHAT?!"
"Separate them!"
"This is so uncivilized..."
"Cling 'em! Maybe they'll sort it out once and for all!"
"What did you say now!?"
"Civilized or not, much more honest than the kind of businesses that you all've got running."
"Hey, I know you!"
"What's so stinking of fish here?"
"For the love of!" exlaimed a merchant, or bailiff, or both, apparently a very rich one, judging by the clothes, "Just move on, will you all? Time is money!"
"WHOSE MONEY? WHOSE MONEY?"
"Your money, our toil!"
"What's so stinking of beaten up here?"
"Say it again!"
"I am just So afraid!"
"What?"
"You wanna taste fire outta these parts, Splinter?"
"Hey, y'all! We've got a taxer here!"
"Whatever makes your day, Copperboy!"
"Hey, isn't it this guy from back in the days of Mapleharbour?"
"THAT'S HIM!"

The chaotic, uncontrollable hate-buzz between the mice - carpenters and blacksmiths, grain harvesters and traders, hunters and foragers, young liberals and conservatives and old liberals and conservatives - was gaining force and threatened the outburst of a brawl soon if nothing was to be done. Three other guards approached, two guardmice and a patrol guard; lately this has proved insufficient more and more often, though. They couldn't control the crowd, and couldn't even hear their own shouts over the din. There was a looming menace of some of the goods transported across the bridge falling into the moat.

Most of the time, mice in a crowd were just walking to their destinations, watching their steps. There were however events - really just several words to be said aloud - that would make them raise their heads and eyes. And when they did, they met the eyes of the mouse next to them... and nowadays all the more frequently they would recall they had some debts not evened out.

[UserClone]

"Oh...hi, Allain."

Blanche suddenly feels useless, her stomach filled with tiny butterflies. She shuffles from foot to foot for a moment, then she smiles excitedly as if she suddenly remembers something.

"Oh! Allain, I've got some more information for you, just like I promised. Here," she says, pulling out a sheaf of papers from her backpack, "is a map and detailed diagrams of the location and orientation of every fallen tree, predator's nest, and new stream we happened across for the last four months."

She smiles as she hands it over.

[Unrest]

"Oh, Lockhaven plans?" muttered Blanche's father, "You are peddling grain now, Blanche?"
"Holland! ... I want to have a word with you. Excuse us."

"Thanks Blanche, you remembered!" Allain lighted up, "You don't know how much help it'll be! We'll have them," he said shuffling quickly, looking one time at the papers, one time at Blanche, "we'll have those maps ready in no time thanks to you! ... Well," he frowned, "though the streams, trees and nests... it'll all pass and be gone and we won't know when..." he raised his eyes again, "Do you have some time now? Or constantly patrolling, even when at your second home?"

[Human Paragon 3]

Oh no...

That's one of my boys down there, and he's in way over his head. I need to get down there right away and get things under control. It looks like that crowd down there is in no mood to listen though, and a show of force will just push them farther toward chaos. Perhaps the opposite is needed- a show of humility?

Maybe what we did back at Dragonfly Ridge in '44? Come on, it'll be like the old times...

The two faced an unruly mob in Dragonfly ridge, members of the mouse guard itself. They hadn't received pay or rations in days, and were ready to revolt, but a well-timed play for sympathy quelled the gathered mice' anger.

I think I can get down there fast enough to at least make a start... if you came in at just the right moment?

EDIT:

The old mouse frowns, cataracts evident in his old eyes. It's obvious that some of the fire has left his belly, that the stone stairs of the wall are no friends to his knees.

Spalding, Ethelred says, I know you. Once a guard always a guard. I'm going down there to settle this. I must, for the sake of my man Beagan, and for the sake of this day. Don't forget why all these mice are gathered here, for the memory of a guard mouse! I'd rather have a berry stain on my cloak than a stain on his name. Won't you help me?

d6o

[Unrest]

"My... it doesn't look like a buzz twenty years ago, does it, Barwick?" said Dirk, putting a paw over his forehead. "Hey, it's the boy that's always sticking around the Gray, or am I wrong?"

***
Two guardmice scurried past where Blanche and Allain were standing.

"Hey, Greencloak!" shouted a blue-cloaked brownfur near Blanche, "There's some mixture over at the drawbridge, you can't hear? We're going-"
"Now wait up," said his companion, a yellow-cloaked grayfur, in an earnest if detached voice, "we can't drain the whole tent zone of guards trying to control this one spot."
"What? Why not?"
"Maybe that's what they want us to do."
"Nooo... so that'd mean someone stays here?"
"But if we need every paw we can get there..."
"Bloody moon..."

Blanche can see that the two are standing there, glancing nervously at each other, at her, and around at where they would suppose other Guards should be. They seem unable to make a decision whether to stay here or rush to the drawbridge. Either way, they haven't given any orders so far, so it's up to the tenderpaw to act as she sees fit.

***

"Fine, fine, Everblue," Spalding mocked him, and chuckled, lowering his head; that trickster could laugh at any topic ever invented, even when the stakes were big enough to make others tremble with anxiety. This was one of the things about the mentor that made the more solemn Ethelred twitch. "Look now. I will go down there, even though you don't need to go down there. It's Langley's boy, after all; where's the ol' witchdoctor anyway? We'll go, me, at my pace, you run and break your knees all you like; I'll arrive there in my time just to see it all being sent crashing down into the moat for a much-needed moat of cold water to the steaming heads, haha. You know my timing," he made a surprisingly fast and swift move, as if stabbing the grayfur with the cane, which almost made Ethelred leap trying to dodge, "is still what it's always been. Impeccable." He smiled one of those smiles that make you wish the Scent Border was at a distance over which, at night, you could easily transport an unconscious mouse.

"Let's go. You first, caretaker." Silently, he added, "Sixty winters old and asks help, not unheard of, a lesson in humility, that is, but still!..." He said it in this kind of whisper that, though quiet, is perfectly audible to all those you want to hear it.

Spalding decides to go, but you can hear how he relates to the whole situation; he has always been irreverent, but now he mocks you about trying to help a mouse in trouble, and seems to fail to see that it is a wholly different situation than some 'play of influence', but a real danger... You know him some, and hence believe that he knows it's not how he put it in words. However, it is a fact these words were as precise and striking as his swordplay, and managed to seriously upset you. Ethelred is now Angry because of the stance of his mentor.

***

Beagan can no longer see the two elder Guards there at the wall. What does he do? Go look for additional officers? There are about six other guards there, two guardmice, three patrol guards and a patrol leader. They are successful at keeping the mice on the drawbridge - about fifty of them, most quite agitated, some swearing - but cannot get them to calm down. The raucous crowd doesn't spill over into the tent village, as the guards are cordoning it off, but the noise starts to echo in Lockhaven's gateway.

[UserClone]

"I'm sorry Allain, but I can't shirk my duties."

"Let's go!" Blanche shouts over her shoulder at the two guardmice as she sprints towards the situation.

[Human Paragon 3]

Ask for help and get laughed at? A guard should never be wanting for assistance or generosity... The oldfur acted like a child. Ethelred was better than that though. He wouldn't rise to his Senior's bait, even if he inwardly seethed. Rather than set himself off, the experienced guard turned without saying a word to the oldfur and sped toward the square.

Finding the path came easily to him. This was his home, after all, and he'd walked countless patrols through the city. The fastest way to the square from here was not to take the nearest staircase down the wall. That led to a guard post and was intentionally difficult to cross for security. Instead, Ethelred traveled north along the wall and took Tucker's stair, which emptied out into the public green. The gray mouse cut through the garden and approached the square from the northwest side, easily making his way through the crowd, and clamored up onto a cart near Beagan.


Mice, please, he began calling out the crowd. As he surmised they were in no mood to listen, even to him. Respect for the guard was waning theses days thanks to anger at the mistress. Ungrateful bastards... how easily they forget about the blood spilled by the guard on their behalf.

Look here! Listen! Ethelred called. He scanned the crowd for friendly faces, but everyone looked suspect to him, each one a tinder pile waiting to ignite. This would have to be played carefully.

A jeer rang out, mocking the gray captain. "Oh, the oldfur wants us to sit down and shut up like good little mice!"

Normally such a comment from a civilian mouse wouldn't bother Ethelred. He'd heard much worse from people he respected much more. But Spalding's cavalier jibes had left him raw.

That's it! he shouted. When I--

But he never finished the thought. A pomegranate seed caught him square on the chin, bursting and splattering over his gray cloak. Ow... Spalding threw it hard, undoubtedly purposely overplaying his role to make some point. But for the time being, it had worked. The crowd inhaled as one, waiting to see what would come of this. He had their attention.

Well, he said, looking down at his stained cloak. I see that respect for the guard has changed somewhat since I was a lad. I guess I shouldn't be so surprised, that today, even on this day, the enmity of the crowd should bring the realm's protectors low. No, this cloak doesn't mean what it used to, does it? Does it?

So since you can't seem to respect me as a guard, I'll talk to you simply as a mouse. There, I've taken it off. And my sword. Now I'm the same as any of you, aren't I? Maybe now you'll listen to what I have to say.

There are petty squabbles every day in Lockhaven. My mistake was in hoping that today would be any different, but I see now that it's not. Not to you, anyway. Not to some of you. But others of you do know the meaning of this day. Some of you were there to see the finest of all of us, the Primeguard. Maybe your mistake was thinking that today was about selling bread or finding an excuse to call out your fellow mice for their transgressions, and not about him. It's good that you're selling bread. It's good to see the finest artisans in the land together in this city today. It's even good to air your grievances, yes. But disrespecting the memory of a mouse who gave everything to hold our people together by fighting amongst yourselves on the day of his death... I just expected more.

I know many of you, and this is not your true selves. You forget yourself in the crowd. The thrower of that seed will be anonymous of course. I didn't see who it was--I'm afraid I've gone both white and blind in the service of this city. But you're not just a crowd. You're individual mice, mice I know. I've watched many of you grow up, seen you make good decisions, and be respectful and good.

Jasper, you're not too far away for these old eyes to see. I know you wouldn't throw a berry at an old guard mouse. I know you wouldn't push your brother off the wall. Which of you would, if you were thinking clearly? It's your decision to make, stain this celebration of a good mouse's life like an angry coward stained my cloak, or make this day a celebration of peace and good will. When we remember Kensie, we're not just celebrating the life of a great mouse. We're holding up as good and true the best qualities of each of us. So for his sake, certainly not mine, honor those qualities now.

[Fri]

Barwick stops his friendly chatting for a moment as he notices something unfolds at the main yard. He silently watches it for a while. Hm, this doesn't bode well. A bit of friendly brawl is just expected when a lot of mice gather. But he still doesn't like it.

Ah, someone seems to raise to the methaporical podium, trying to calm the situation! Barwick squints his eyes, does he recognize that mouse. He grins, it's good ol' Ethelred. Typical of him.

Barwick nods to his old senior and the rest of the mice nearby. "Sorry, I think I have something to do after all."

He quickly unclasp his cape before swimming through the crowd. "Hey hey, I wonder what he's going to say. What if we listen to him first. If we don't like it, we could continue from where we left easily enough" He says to the mice on her left and right, as if he's part of the crowd from the beginning. Well, Ethelred. This is as much as I could do.

(use persuade for bonus dice. I think you should roll it, ethelred)

[Totally Guy]

Beagan had slipped amongst the crowd trying to lay low out of embarrassment. But someone he respected, Ethelred, was pulling him out of the fire. Beagan looked for a way to help the oldfur!

"The awldfar is roight!" said Beagan, twisting his voice to sound like one from the east of the territories.

He then slipped into a new location.

"You've got to respect a mouse who's dedicated so much for us!" He said in his most pompous and posh sounding tone.

Maybe big speeches were not for him but he could still deceive some people!

I'm lobbying to help Ethelred using my deceiver skill.

[UserClone]

Blanche stands in awe of her mentor, certain there's nothing she could do to convince anyone better than his magnificent speech.

[Unrest]

The old Guard captain's speech managed to grip the crowd, who stood now, almost seeming rock-solid, and gazed at the gray mouse with the gray cloak. Only a very low hum was there in the air; mice, as the situation just three minutes earlier showed, could very well be an almost rioting, squeaking and hollering crowd, but when they were silenced, they were a species not to make the least sound, even if there were several dozen of them gathered in one place.

The only other sound audible was heard solely by Ethelred, who thought he could hear Spalding chuckling somewhere in the nearest tent.

"He's talking the wits..."
"I guess we're about as silly as we get."
"Listen to the captain!" squeaked a girl, full with emotion, "Shame on you blokes!"
"Right, then... sorry. We fine?" said the wet carpenter and nodded to the blacksmith he thought had pushed him off of the bridge.
"Aw come on, what'd he know, to listen to a Guard like they're some-"
"Don't start it again," responded a solemn voice to the previous utterance, "or you'll be swimming in the moat."
"Uhh..." said one of the previously louder mice, looking around himself meekly, "Alright, alright, move along." Someone took off their hat and hit him on the head, and he just tried to make his way out of the crowd as quickly as possible.
"Pfah-ha! You try-" started a big stonemason, but then a patrol guard made half a step towards him, and the mouse went silent.
"Hail Ethelred!" exclaimed an excited older woman, and several young mice slowly started to clap.
"It's this, this," started the merchant, very fond of... apparently himself: "This is the way to have the mob under your-" He had to cut it, because his face was now in the shadow cast by a harvester almost twice as tall as he.
"If you can't talk, don't try to walk. You learn something from the oldfur, loudmouth," said a carpenter to Beagan, who tried to fake the crowd enthusiasm; even a blacksmith concurred, though a short while ago he would have had his paws around the carpenter's throat: "The splint's right, meep," he said sharply, basically calling Beagan a teenager with an overblown ego, "We aren't that easily fooled, and that sure ain't a way to go around for you. You go around like that, you watch your step."
"And your maw," said an Easterner that the Guard unfortunately stood next to when faking the accent. The several craftsmen pushed Beagan away as much as space allowed, in the manner people who know the party's over push away someone they don't have their dealings finished with yet. Beagan moved away, knowing that the Guardmouse code does not let him react with force to any kind of non-physical abuse.
"I know I myself would be quite bloody about that part of the code now," said Melthorp, who went into the crowd to pull Beagan out. "Though I heard," he tried striking a casual tone to have the Guardmouse forget about the situation a bit as they were making their way towards where Ethelred and Spalding stood, "that upstairs they're working on reworking just that paragraph, you know?"

"It's time to be silent, and move into shade; and the sparks that so roared, are wisps now ashamed," recited Conne the bard, who has been observing - or rather listening to - the whole scene, and squeezed his wife's arm, and improvised: "Doubt not I this evening, to parchment I'll be due; and muses to canvas, in turn, will draw you. Won't they?" She smiled, and he knew she did, though he couldn't see.

***

When the flow resumed, Barwick got his cloak back (though a woman in the crowd asked him some strangely ambiguous questions while he was acting incognito there as a professional baker) and went up to where Ethelred, Spalding, Beagan and Blanche were.

"Impressive though your performance must have been," said the Fencer, "these fish didn't exactly catch the hook, did they? Lucky this old gray net still has its eyes close enough to pull us all out of a hard day's jailing. But honestly," he shifted to his other leg, and his cane switched hands as well, "why would you do it? Quite the attention-seeker you are, aren't you? If it weren't for how poorly you did, I would almost be inclined to say 'that's what I was in my youth'. Beagan, right? You're a Guard. Do your job. Fame and flair go second. Yes, even for me, even for me that has always been true." Ethelred couldn't really disagree, but he would say that fame and flair, rather than second, were simply "first as well" for his mentor. "You have time. Learn. Look at what you are holding in your paws, a line and a hook. You'll know a lot about yourself when you look closer at what you choose. And for this bloody day's sake," he added sharply and loudly, "don't make this bloody day any more problematic. Old fur bristles when there are problems. And we don't want anyone leaving us before his time, do we," he said, patting Ethelred on the back, that ever irreverent jester.

*** Player's Turn ***

Only about half an hour of in-game time has passed; it is almost the first hour after noon. With the ceremony beginning at dusk, you have a lot of time to pursue whatever you choose to; you are, of course, still on guard, but patrolling you can go wherever you deem you need to.

Barwick is quite hungry, but that's easily solved inside the walls or at the Guard canteen, and also quite filled with the knowledge of a job well done. Maybe not the one who took the spotlight this noon, but arguably the happiest of all, and that also counts for something.
Beagan is Angry with first being ridiculed and then berated by some mice in the crowd, and Spalding's evaluation was not exhilarating, either. The Anger may be cancelled by what Ethelred says, if he does a really good job at choosing his words, and then nothing will need to be spent to recover. +2 checks for Stubborn against yourself and an F in Orator.
Blanche is likely waiting to hear what Ethelred will tell Beagan, so that she may learn something as well - after all, an ordinary person learns from his own mistakes, and an intelligent person learns from the mistakes of others, too. The image of her relatives and Allain she left abruptly flashes in her mind for a split second.
Ethelred is still Angry. Not his duty in particular, as Beagan is not his trainee, but he may be just as well inclined to know why the hell it went like it did. An F in Persuader (Spalding) and an S in Orator. (I did not count the Pathfinder as it was unnecessary.)

If I missed some checks / skill tests, please point it.

What do you say to each other? Maybe you say nothing and go about your duties? Maybe you need to justify something, maybe feel someone does? All four of you and Spalding, Melthorp and Dirk are on the spot, and you are standing next to the crate from which you perorated at the end of the bridge.

[Human Paragon 3]

Ethelred looks at his Senior and at Beagan. Spalding was quick to tell Ethelred he should mind his business when the lad was in trouble, but quicker still to to spout off his sage advice to the young guard mouse as soon as the trouble was over. The gray captain briefly considered inquiring into how the trouble started, or offering some pointers, but people learned from their own mistakes. Either he got something from this, or he didn't. And he certainly didn't need a lecture from two old guards.

He picked up his cloak and sword and fastened them back on.

All right everyone, back to work, was all he said. Not even a nod good bye to the young mouse or the oldfur. He didn't need Beagan's gratitude. He came in and aided the mouse out of loyalty, and out of dedication to the mistress, not for thanks. And as for Spalding, perhaps he had grown too accustomed to having his ego stroked.

Ethelred turned and departed, continuing on his patrol.

Anyone with anything to say to Ethelred can do so before he takes off. I'm not sure how I want to spend my check yet. Either testing wits to get rid of angry, or practicing lockhaven wise through my patrol.

[Totally Guy]

"Ethelred, wait... I'm not an idiot, I swear. I was trying to do the exact thing that you did. I just... They're just... They were wrong to each other and my duty is to right that."

Beagan looked rather sheepishly at his medal... this renewed his vigor somewhat.

You'll see... I'm going to do great things some day. Then they'll all see..."

Beagan crept away. And muttered to himself his inner thoughts...

"I don't like these celebrations... they remind me of Oakside. If I were to spot weasels about, somewhere the guard didn't think to look... then I would be respected again.

Where had Blanche got to? Beagan had decided that he needed her help, she's got the looking glass after all. Ah! There she is.

"Blanche! Psst, Blanche. Shhh..." He extended a small digit over his mouth to indicate silence. "You're going to come away with me and help me look for weasels!

[Fri]

Feeling quite happy after helping an old friend defusing a situation, Barwick simply does a round of patrol while humming and chewing some snacks, waiting for the main event of the day to start. He think he'll catch old Ethelred later, congratulating him on a job well done. But now, let's just enjoy the rest of the day.

[Totally Guy]

With Blanche in tow Beagan left the safety of Lockhaven and the temporary tent village to scout beyond the Guard's perimeter.

"You see Blanche, other mice always make things too complicated. They squabble and annoy one one another. I like to think that I'm agreeable with most mice but sometimes you just can't control these things, you know?"

He looked about. He could trust Blanche. He considered her a friend

"Ethelred is a great mouse and all... but sometimes he just doesn't think outside the box. Me? I'm not constrained by the structure and rigid rules he enforces and follows. I follow the Oath and my own code! If mice turn on each other within the walls of Lockhaven, home of the Guard, then the consequences are mostly their own fault. If tree falls upon the town then that's no mouse's fault! This, out here, is where we can do the most good for our fellows.

Beagan knew how the guard thought and more importantly how they didn't think. He knew he'd build a better future for the guard someday but nobody listened to him right now. Maybe if he gained another medal...

"Blanche, things could get dangerous from here, stay alert and use your spyglass too. If those burrow stealing vermin are about and wise to the Guard's movement patterns they could be hiding in old tunnels that used to be commonly used here..."

[Unrest]

"Amusing it happened to you," said Berreese, a tall, thin grayfur weaver, one of Guard's main suppliers; though only thirty, she was often mistaken for twice as much, and commonly titled 'Autumn-clouds' daughter". Her only means of expression were said to be the clothes she made, and everyone was perfectly happy with that - her speech was as depressing as a child's funeral, and the dresses she made as beautiful as one's birth.

"Indeed," she said, absent-mindedly, rummaging through a wardrobe in her workshop. It was dimly lit; Ethelred couldn't make out much in it despite his remarkably sharp sight. He wondered how someone could spend almost their whole life in the darkness of a workshop, weaving and hardly seeing anyone except customers or the Guard.

Finally she pulled out a cloak and walked up to the Guard with it; the one thing he could perfectly see there was that it was not gray. Perhaps, grayish, but it seemed that it could have a pale tint of yellow, blue or green on it just as well. Any mouse would presume it is lovely, though for the ever-gray Ethelred it was not a likely train of thought.

"This," she spoke heavily, "I'm in no mood to clean yours. You're honour guard leader." She most likely meant that it does not befit this position to have a gray cloak. Where she knew the fact he will be the leader from - Ethelred could only guess.

"Someone did you a favour staining your cloak."

***

"You're never at ease, are you!"
"Yae, Blanche, tell your boy to do us a favour and take it light for once!"

The two young mice caught smooching behind a root quickly scurried away, and left Beagan and Blanche in awkward silence.

So far, nothing. No diversions, sabotage, plots, insurgents. No sawed tree trunks ready to be felled over Lockhaven, no easily flammable brews to be spilled onto the tent village, no traps, no ambushes, no nothing.

From a branch over two hundred yards above, a mouse waved at them merrily. Her purple cloak fluttered in the light wind, and she was carving something along the lines of "Meeth loves Sloane", or perhaps "Meeth loves Garre", or yet someone else altogether, Blanche couldn't keep track of Meeth's many affections and even less could Beagan.

And then, there was a promise of something happening.

There was a blackish mouse, lying on the moss, face down, with a fancy hat on his head. He wasn't moving. He was about seventy yards from them, on lower ground, and about three hundred yards from the tent village.

And then a bird rustled in the upper branches, beat its wings feverishly and went away into the sky, after a second disappearing past the cover of leaves.

It was a blackbird, and April is the latest they have ever been seen in the Territories.

After looking at the tree crowns for a heart-still moment, Blanche and Beagan lowered their sight again, and watched the black mouse, not moving.

Everything - the sun, the breeze, the chirping of birds and crickets - was perfect on that day.

[Human Paragon 3]

What? says Ethelred. My old ears deceive me. In no mood to clean my cloak?

Could nothing go right this day?

How long have I known you, cloudling? And when have you seen me wear anything but the gray? This thing is a fine cloak to be sure, but if I am at the front of the honor guard in a new cloak, mice will get funny ideas. They'll think I'm showing off, or I've gone soft, or that vanity drove me to a finer color. But the guard is not vain.

I wear the gray for the stone of Lockhaven, for the gray rock this city is built of. There's no dishonor in that.

[Totally Guy]

"Hey Blackfur, are you all right?"

Beagan yelled out and hopped over towards the fallen mouse.

"Blanche, you will use the recovery position and check for broken limbs, I will check for breathing and tend the head."

Beagan looked all about to take in the tranquility of the day before leaning into the potential patient.

"Buddy, you are in capable paws. We're both good at this I won't give up on you."

[Unrest]

Berreese looked at the Guard in the manner of people being away somewhere with their thoughts; he was sitting there without his cloak, gray as ever, and was unwilling to try on clothes most would dream to have.

"Vanity," she said plainly, curling the tone a bit at the end in a way that under some circumstances would have signified a question.

"You know that smell," she uttered as a statement. She looked him straight in the eye from where she was standing, next to a door leading to another part of the workshop; her face was dressed with its habitual elegant, reserved frown.

She disappeared for several dozen seconds in the next room, and came back carrying Ethelred's cloak; it was still dripping wet from being completely immersed in a tub of cleaning mixture. She handed it to him, but in a motion one puts someone onto a chair that is not occupied.

"Rocklish weeds," she said, turned around and left the room. Smelling the cloak, Ethelred thought that she somehow managed to make an extract of wind and sky, of longing and freedom, of strength and sensitivity, and turn it into a stain remover. It failed to console him, though, and he needed to dry it out somehow, too - well, the last thing one could find in Berreese's house was fire - of any kind.

***

The two Guardmice quickly approached the black mouse, but in their advance they stumbled when their noses were knocked-out completely by the smell of fermented raspberries.

With much less enthusiasm, if it can be called that, they walked up to the stranger; having discerned several items the mouse had on himself - a checkered kerchief tucked in his belt, a pouch, and a raggedy cape and hat, both somehow squeezed under his body - Beagan realized it was not a stranger. Blanche rolled him onto his back, and the Guardmouse was right - but not really happy to see the familiar face. It was trying to talk, but encountered considerable difficulties.

"Eksh... yooou, shouch the lighd..."

Jasper. Jasper, 'Blackie' the Gambler.

There are no penalties for being drunk away from other mice and not causing trouble; guardmice are usually just instructed to sober the delinquent up, but few really go out of their way to bring a drunk back from among the bombed.

[Human Paragon 3]

You know just what to say to make a mouse happy to make your acquaintance, don't you? You're but thirty winters, and already I see that your as set in your old ways as this oldfur. Yet it delights you to watch me squirm in a strange cloak.

Believe me, if I could take my wet cloak and spend the day smoking my pipe while it dried, I would, but I have a duty to the mistress. Your work is good, so I'll take both the cloaks - my gray and this fine one, too. I'm afraid I might not have time to dry it before the ceremony, so you may get your wish to see me change my colors after all. I'll have the loner cloak back in your hands by the morrow, whether I wear it or not.

[Unrest]

Berreese stared at Ethelred, standing there as petrified, leaning slightly against a great carpet, or tapestry, making up one of the intermediate walls in the room. The guard captain was carrying on his peroration, but as far as response was concerned, he might just as well have been talking in an empty room. The weaver has, in fact, slipped out before he finished his last sentence, and left him in a silence so profound that the Guard thought he could hear the dust swirling in the air.

[Totally Guy]

"Oh Jasper... just look at you! You're a mess."

Beagan turned to Blanche, "Allow me to introduce you to my old old rival Jasper."

Secretly Beagan loved their rivalry. He loved forming sides and making other mice choose one side over the other. He loved the fact that since their friendship ceased he'd always been the good guy, whereas Jasper's was always seen as one at fault. Jasper's continued enmity reinforced the perception of Beagan's righteousness.

"Jasper, you dishonour me with your inebriation! You're supposed to be on my level! Remember the good old, days? I'd win some, you'd win others..."

Beagan reminisced to back when he and Jasper had first fallen out. It was just before Oakside...

"But now, I'm just so much better than you are. You can't compete with me and I'm ashamed to call you my rival."

Beagan turned to Blanche again. "Lets get this blackfur back to Lockhaven and sober him up."

Since Elthelred had saved him he'd been itching for someone to oppose him. And Jasper wasn't up to the task... yet.

[UserClone]

"Couldn't we bring him to the stream and sober him up? Lockhaven's awfully public at the moment, and it would look bad on the guard for one of our own to be seen this drunk during such a monumentous occasion, wouldn't it...?"

[Totally Guy]

"No Blanche, I'm doing a good deed here despite my contempt. I want the everymouse to know about it."

[UserClone]

"This is only going to make you, and by extension me, look worse, not better. You think mice will respect you for parading a drunk around town and making an example of him?"

[Totally Guy]

"You see Blanche, we guards have a duty to be seen guarding. We're more of a deterrent than the things we actually do. Except for us! We're the exception! We're out here in the wild making sure that nothing ruins this day for Sadeleyne. So she needs to see that they all see and we have proof that the system works full circle. She's effectively asked me to do it my way by being the head of the guard."

[UserClone]

"Don't. You. Dare try to smear the Matriarch's name by bringing her into your childish, narcissistic flights of fancy and delusions of grandeur! Perhaps I should tell Sadelyne of your attempt to persuade me to help you to humiliate an innocent, if misguided and drunk, fellow mouse on a national holiday in honor of her dead mate in front of all Lockhaven? Actually, I'll go do that now, and ask the mouse herself. I'll bother her in the middle of one of the most important ceremonies all year in the Territories to see if she told you to wreck this mouse's day! Be right back!"

She poises herself to sprint right by Beagan.

[Totally Guy]

"No, Blanche. Wait... I get it. Discretion is the better part of valour... We'll do it your way. I'm really sorry for involving Sadeleyne like that." Beagan pleaded.

"Come on Jasper, lets get you sobered up." Beagan extended his paw to the blackfur.

But before grasping Jasper's paw he turned to Blanche one again and said sheepishly, "This is why I wanted you to come with me. I'd just embarrass myself infront of Ethelred or Barwick. But you know I trust your judgement."

[Unrest]

"Sh'z you, Bggn...?" the blackfur bubbled from within the recesses of his intoxicated obscurity. "Yu brbl... CHOOO!" Jasper sneezed, and apparently passed out from the impact. It was now that Beagan recalled that the poor fool was allergic to a grass he dubbed the "Killgrass", and which pollenated somewhere around this time of year. Other mice who knew Jasper would sometimes point out that the weed in question was actually the Judge Medallion, and have an ironic laugh out of it.

When he came back, the guardmice's argument was finished; he sent a misguided smile at Blanche's belly and twisted his head around to look at Beagan - his eyes were out of focus more than a deaf, feverstruck bat. But, he was a tiny bit more sober.

"Wa's thine face, Bea... Gir' told you offf?" He hiccupped; sloshed half time over his head, he persisted miserably in his place of choice, half-curled, half-sitting and half-lying, cupping his head in his hands and desperately trying to pull his torn hat over his eyes.

If you took a while to wonder at the whole scene, you would likely find it a picturesque one: in an idyllic plain of moss, on a beautiful summer's day, a drunk mouse hiding its face as hard as it could from the pillars of light, burning their way through the air from the treetops to the ground.

And a pair of guardmice preparing to take care of the lost soul.

The stream is a ten minutes' walk North - with Jasper, twenty - along a 'valley' laid with moss pillows. Lockhaven is East. There's still about three hours until dusk, when the ceremonies will begin.

[Totally Guy]

"I'll not have you insult me Jasper, Blanche is my friend and everyone needs guidance from their friends from time to time. Just as you need guidance now. But you'll have to settle for me."

Beagan licked the side of one of his front teeth in an attempt to look like he was more in control than he really was.

"Come to the stream with us Blackie and we'll find some you some nourishment. Blanche and I have got you."

[Unrest]

"Ifye... sayso..."

Anyone could easily see that even if the gambler wanted to resist, he would be as succesful as if trying to resist gravity. Which, on the contrary, seemed to be quite charmed with the blackfur, pulling him down into its embraces harder than a stone.

[Totally Guy]

"Off to the stream we go. It should be predator free as we were out scouting this region. Here, use my hook as a crutch."

Beagan offered Jasper the hook making sure the piece of cork was over the spike. They walked in awkward silence. Beagan hadn't realised Blanche could be so intimidating.

After reaching the stream Beagan fetched water for Jasper and gave him the bread from his satchel.

"Lets fix you up then."

[Fri]

It's a perfect day. The sun is shining the breeze smells both the calming smell of grass and the delicious smell of food but...

As the blackbird leaves the bushes suddenly, Barwick ponders. He knows that birds are just bird and they can't tell your luck. But still. He hopes that this is just an old mouse's melancholy. Old mice simply can't have a perfect day...

[Unrest]

And as Barwick ponders, his mind stumbles across a thought.

"That's peculiar. I don't think that through all those years I have seen a blackbird this time of year..."

***

"I'm not... wellllh..." Jasper sighed quietly, carried between Blanche and Beagan more than led by them. He was leaning heavily on his improvised crutch; with the other hand he held his stomach.

The gambler flinched at first when offered water, but then went limp and eventually drank; Beagan brought it from the stream in a piece of bark he hollowed out with his knife. Jasper swallowed it all, and for a second he seemed back among the living - but he was still holding the bowl and looked intently into its bottom.

Upon closer inspection, one could see the blackfur was in a really miserable condition; not only was he still drunk, but his eyes were getting messed up because of his allergy - apparently the vicinity of water didn't help those allergic to Judge Medallion if they have been long exposed to it. Left dry, they were only sneezing. Serving them clear water, especially on top of alcohol, was not the thing to do...

And because it was a perfect day, that was the only thing Beagan forgot.

"It... bell..." he stopped abruptly, his insides rumbled. "No good-!" His eyes watered.

It was not so much the guardmouse's fault - being allergic to Judge Medallion was not an entirely popular thing to be; nor was being dead drunk. Treating such a condition was less frequent a challenge than was escaping brutal food chain-related death.

"Um, Beagan..." Blanche said, "doesn't this look like your mentor's...?"

It was, however, among Mouse Guard duties to, if capable, help any mouse that may be suffering from the violent symptoms of Langley's Burn, which is not deadly, but painful as Oakside memories.

It was, similarly, among Mouse Guard duties to cross-survey the doings of its own members.

Furthermore, it was in every mouse's interest to keep a look out for the well-being of those that held their parts of deals, because reliance was not very easily found in gray areas; this last truth was the reason for the sound coming from uphill.

Blanche and Beagan could not do much after a guardsvoice hollered at them from somewhere up above; running might be mouse nature, but not a Guard thing. "Only the guilty mouse runs from a mouse," many experienced Guards would say. The tenderpaw and guardmouse had no choice then but to stand shamefully beside the streamshore while Jasper the Gambler rid his intestines of anything that might have been accumulated there and while Otto of the Rivers, a brownfur guard captain presiding over the waterways, was making his way down the hill.

"Now what's!" shouted Otto, flailing his arms as if trying to beat up streaks of air. His countenance was usually far from friendly; now, he was squinting because of the brightness, and that also gave his face a sour look. "Ay mouse comes down the tree, from out of shade into light, sees what, sees murder or what? What's it, it's Jasper, isn't he?"

Otto was not a pleasant sight; his fur was like that of the downtrodden and involved in filthy deals, and the expressions on his face were said to be conveying positive emotions once a year. It may have had to do with the fact that he had one of the most demanding jobs in the whole of Mouse Guard: he was the Waterway Chancellor, in well over any mouse's head in trade, administration, weather planning and danger. He has so far survived three attempts at his life, and in one of his occasional bouts of cynicism said he would like to get a nice, round number by the time he lays his head to sleep for the last time.

He was quite the figure as one of the few persons in the Guard whose position and tasks required them to be wealthy; his birthday celebrations - always held on a large boat - drew many of the important and affluent, and also those who were important and affluent but tried hard for the others not to know the sources of their importance and affluence, and thus... they were part of his job, too. Otto had an extensive web of connections only he himself could know the real span of - all this due to being the most politician- or merchant-like mouse in the Guard.

The remarkable thing about him was that despite his power he was never considered any threat to Sadeleyne, as he was one of her most devoted servants, even if not a friend per se.

The unremarkable thing about him was that he was as harsh to any personal enemy as he was to any other mouse, especially guardmouse.

"This. I went up the tree because one day in the year, I had a day for myself; and I was watching the water flow on down, and then my sight moves, and you I BLOODY behold! What have you done to the Gambler! I could see him spastic from three hundred yards up!"

He didn't wait for an answer.

"My bedamned carcass, the knavery! You gave him water? The poor drunk fool! Where are these coming from... He's flowing out of himself!" His face changed suddenly.

"Aren't you this that? Beaman? Weren't you just the one who's always been holding a keen dagger against Jasper? I know this poor drunk fool, whom I know, you may Imagine, to be quite the bugger when it comes to getting me the people I want to know, I know he's been holding the dagger against you, too."

Jasper seemed passed out for the moment, but his stomach was signalling it wasn't done yet.

"So tell me," Otto looked first at Blanche and then at Beagan, "wasn't it just too easy and obvious to get back at this fool by soaking him up? Tell me, guardmouse."

This scene is a result of the failed test, and just requires you to roleplay. If either of you wants to spend a check, you can go for an Ob or Conflict (not totally recommended so as not to drag this out) to persuade Otto it wasn't your intention and then lessen the penalty for actually failing the previous one. (Beagan suffers the penalty given the fact it was only his Healer test.) If you don't, I'll resolve it. Just remember that going for Ob/Conflict may improve or worsen your situation.

[UserClone]

"Bu-but-but...we thought he was only drunk..."

Blanche is suddenly the shrinking violet, being the Tenderpaw here, she has no experience in getting caught up in situations like this by senior guardmice.

[Totally Guy]

"Do you ever feel like you're having one of those days? I've had Ethelred, Melthorpe, Spalding and even Blanche here tell me I'm doing something wrong today. And now you're going to jump to conclusions and join in too Otto? If you want to take the responsibility of tending to wretched Jasper here onto yourself then go ahead. We've got a ceremony to attend."

Beagan was growing quite tired of constant antagonism of other mice.