Mission:
Quickclaw the ferret sat, back against the wall, chain around throat in the dank prison. It was a cold place even with his cloak on, colder still from the water constantly dripping on him from above. Probably why the guards chose this spot for him. He slammed a paw into the water puddle on the floor. Who would do this to him?! A beast he had beaten in a fight? No, the duels were all in jest, no real seriousness about them. From the other end of the wall there was a clanking and clattering. The lower cellars, so, they were already preparing for the Emperor’s home-coming, he had three days. He pried at the old mortar of the cell with his damp paw, bringing out a pawfull of it. This might work but what about the chain at his throat...? He ripped away at his tunic, pulling out some coins as he did so, he had known it would be good to sow them in the lining. The ferret took a rock and beat on one of the coins until it was thin enough to fit through the lock at his throat. He fiddled with it, tried it again until it un-locked. Then he set to work at the mortar.

In a few hours he had a hole big enough to slip through between the barrels of grog. With most of the cooks gone to the taverns or to bed and the guards drinking at their posts it was an almost simple matter to escape.

Quickclaw lay flat on the roof of one of the taverns, above the doorway, longsword at his side. He waited till most of the corsairs had left, waiting for one of them that would be in there awhile. The weasel came out, downing the last drops of his grog as he did so. Quickclaw dropped to the ground in front of him. “Hullo, Gnarlfang.” The weasel uttered a short cry. “Quicky?

That you, mate? Heard ye were tae be the grand exhibit on Mad Eyes’ return” The ferret grinned. “Aye, perhaps ye kin help me find a beast tae take me place.” Gnarlfang let out a sly laugh. “Oh, an’ ye think I’d help a traitor tae Mad Eyes?” Quickclaw shrugged. “Ye hear rumors?” “I always hear rumors mate, I heard t’were Ulrieen” “He’s me matey.” “Err...Cadeye” “He has not the wit.” “Uh...Gryws.” “Gryws?” “Aye, the lad who’s arm ye decided would be funny if’n t’were chopped off.” said Gnarlfang.

Gryws was a fellow ferret of Quickclaw, they were fighting a duel when Gryws blade had snapped and Quickclaw’s blade sliced off his arm.

“Thankee, Gnarl.”

Quickclaw shifted through the stack of scrolls in the chest by Gryws’ bunk. They were from Brassring, the beast who’s rebellion Ublaz had gone to quell. Quickclaw almost laughed. The scrolls were full of plans of Gryws burning Ublaz’s ship with his own before the Emperor reached Sampetra, Brassring had never intended to win at Salamandastron. Quickclaw gathered the chest under his arm and ran towards the palace.

A week later, the traitorous body of Gryws lay hanging from the yardarm of the Waveworm. The scrolls had done their work.