• The day of Saint Patrick. One often celebrated by the drinking of booze and the wearing of green. None can deny the appeal of the holiday. From one land to another, 'St. Patty's day' is viewed as the holiday for the Irish. The strange tale of one of such Irish, a salty sea cat by the name of Caryas, begins on a St. Patrick's Day a long time ago, in the place many strange stories begin; a dimly lit, dingy pub.

    The door to The Wayward Turtle banged open with a huge CRACK! Several grizzled shapes looked up, shocked, from their brews, to see the source of the sound. Most didn't. Standing in the doorway was an extravagantly dressed figure, trailing a long, red velvet coat and a small feline child carrying a scroll. The figure entered the bar, revealing himself to be none other than Lord Achar Warringston, the noble of the district and known to be corrupt. He was a fitting creature for a noble, being a sleek leopard. The barkeep growled, the mangy old dog showing hate. "Get yer type outta my pub, Warringston. I don't need you mussin' up my business wit' yer legal woo-hoo." The noble turned his head. "Good sir, I'd be indebted to you if you'd spare me the smell of your rotten breath. Unless you wished to be clapped into irons, I suggest you to magically lose your voice..." The barkeep grew silent, but his eyes hurled insults all by themselves. Lord Achar took the scroll from the child, clearing his throat as he unrolled it with a flourish. All eyes in the pub were now on him, however blurry and unfocused they may be. He read, in an almost monotonous voice, what was upon the paper. "Wanted, for the robbery, rape, and finally, murder of Lady Westford: Caryas "Stale Paw" O'Connell.









    The pub grew more silent, if that was even possible. All eyes turned from Lord Achar to the back-most table in the pub. A sleeping figure lay slumped over a beer on the table. A nearby patron gave the figure a hard rap. It gave a snort, and suddenly sat up, in a semi-straight fashion. "S'goin' on...? Whuh...?" Caryas O'Connel blinked the sleep from his eyes, looking around, surprised at the fact that everyone was staring at him. "Huh...? Are my pants gone again...?" he said sleepily, making sure his britches were still around his waist. From the table next to him came a hushed sentence. "Naw, mate. Yer bein' arrested." Caryas groaned. "It was a damned potato! Hang me over it! Sheesh!" Lord Achar smiled. "In denial, eh? Does this picture by any chance ring a bell...?" He produced a small portrait of a young lady in a white frilly dress, smiling daintily at the camera. She was a white tiger, it appeared. Very pretty, but her smile gave her a vacant look, almost like she was in a trance. Caryas shook his head. "Can't say it does, mate. I'm not too fond of the ladies, meself." Achar frowned. "You are the one whom murdered and raped her. She was found in the harbor late last night. Eyewitnesses saw you in her company." Caryas frowned at him. "Sorry, sir, but you've got the wrong guy." Acha turned, gesturing. "Detain him. We'll get the details later." Several armed guards entered the room, burly things with huge swords. Caryas smiled as he rose from the bar stool. "Eh, sorry. I ain't going in for something I didn't do."





    Achar half turned, a snarl appearing on his perfect face. The guards made a jump for him, but the lithe feline leapt easily over their heads, landing gracefully by the barkeep. "You and your boys give 'em hell for me, Dave. Looks like I gotta clear my name." The barkeep smiled, his slightly lazy left eye seeming to sparkle. He picked up a nearby bottle of alcohol, slamming it into the head of one of the pursuing guards. Before anything else could happen, the entire bar was in uproar. Caryas stepped up onto the counter, admiring the massive fight when Achar turned and spotted him. "You!" he said, drawing his saber. "Oops!" Caryas said, dodging and heading for the door. Three guards appeared at the opening as soon as he reached it. He barely missed being decapitated with a swift duck, and then turned, jumping out the open window over the heads of the reinforcements streaming into the bar.



    He made a beeline for the docks, shirking off the guards that were following him with relative ease. He slipped onto a frigate preparing to set sail. He found a dark corner of the deck and waited for the ship to set off, blending in with the other sailors helping to prepare the ship. About three minutes after they shoved off, right when the shore began to fade, a huge column of soldiers streamed into the harbor, Achar at their heels. He looked around, then ordered the men to search the ships. Caryas smiled. He'd gotten away, but not for long. It was a matter of time before they found him to be nowhere in the harbor, and they checked which ships left when. He turned to another sailor, a swarthy looking wolf, and asked, "Where we headed again?" The sailor smiled. "Jokin', huh? We've been told 'bout a thousand times." Caryas shook his head. "Ah. New recruit? We're headed to the port just south of Terrencefork." The sailor said. Caryas, nodding, extended a hand. "Caryas O'Connell." The wolf shook it, smiling. "Bruce Mayere. I'll show ya the ropes, rooks."



    The next week was spent with Caryas literally 'learning the ropes' with Bruce. He was taught which ropes controlled which part of which sail, and when to pull and release the ropes as well. Bruce was a good, if unforgiving teacher. Caryas had never sailed anything as complicated as the frigate before, which is why he had to learn 'the ropes' so efficiently. One day after an especially hard hour working to repair some snapped rigging, Caryas was wiping his brow, sighing. "Ah, it's hotter now then when I left Drakesfield." Bruce turned to him, smiling quizzically. "Why did ya leave that charmin' little place? " Caryas smiled. "To clear my name. Apparently, they thought I'd killed some rich damsel." Bruce whistled. "I can tell it wasn't you. You ain't got the eyes of a murdered." Caryas smiled. "Thanks for noticing, mate." Bruce stretched against a crate behind him. "So, why d'ya think comin' with us'll help ya clear yer name?" Caryas smiled. "Well, think about it. If I hadn't wanted to go to Terrencefork, I could've jumped ship right when we stopped at Birkeley. Where would you go if you were a murderer freshly dodging the guillotine?" Bruce looked thoughtful, then smiled. "Damned, yer smarter than ya look. So yer goin' rumor surfin' in Terrencefork? Damned smart, that is. An' he couldn't be much farther than us." Caryas looked up at him, frowning, puzzled. "Us?" Bruce gave him a grin. "Eh, ya think I'm gonna let ya go alone, pursuin' some murderer, mate?"



    Bruce spent the next few nights planning with Caryas what their plans were when they landed in Terrencefork. They decided on locating and 'researching' in the most rough looking pubs they could find. The best bet would be the murdered framing Caryas would end up in one of the rough pubs, and a man dodging the law leaves a trail easy to follow for other 'law-benders'. As Terrencefork grew nearer, Caryas began to wonder again why someone would frame him for a murder, why these events would have occurred. Bruce was always optimistic, cheerfully describing in detail the tortures they would put the dirty *stream of expletives here* through. However, as the days wore on, on the fifth week of Caryas' journey, his thoughts began to wander as idly as the gulls high above. What were the chances of them actually finding this murderer? How can you find someone who so expertly framed a murder as to have it blamed on a complete stranger? When he thought of such things, he visited the crows nest. The heights helped him to clear his mind. As he watched the waves idly, a voice seemed to declare that they were close to their destination, before he drifted off.



    "You awake?" Bruce said. Caryas opened his eyes. It was late in the evening, the sky turning a reddish-orange hue. Terrencefork lay out in front of them, like an old, dingy map. Bruce handed him a long bundle wrapped in red cloth. "Not now," He said as Caryas began to un-wrap the fabric. "When we get below deck for the night." Caryas nodded, turning to look back out over the city that lay below them. "Think we'll get 'em? I mean, do you really?" Bruce looked thoughtful for a moment, then clasped a hand onto Caryas' shoulder. "I know we will."