Lightning flashed across the sky in sheets that came close to matching the sheets of rain that blew nearly sideways across the deck of the tiny ship. Really it was little more than a small fishing vessel, but luckily for Icepaw it was a well built one. The kitsune ran desperately back and forth across the deck, trying to keep everything tied down while simultaneously trying to keep the ship headed in what he thought might be the direction that shore was located. It was hard to tell which direction he was going. The conditions were less than ideal, he thought to himself. It was night, with black clouds overhead. Rain was so heavy that the fox could not see more than ten in front of him and even if there were a break in the clouds it wouldn’t have mattered. It was the night of a new moon. Only the constant lightning provided any illumination and at times Icepaw desperately wished it wouldn’t. The sight of the roiling ocean reminded him that he was on a tightrope and that one small mistake would lead to his demise.

Icepaw made another mad dash for a rope threatening to pull itself free. His claws provided purchase on the wet wood of the deck and he barely grabbed the line before it loosed itself. Icepaw paused to lean over and catch his breath. After a moment of heavy breathing what felt more like water than air, the fox straightened up and howled in frustration. White and blue fur flowed with rainwater as Icepaw cursed the Creator, the Thirteen Guardians, and the beautiful silver compass he had acquired two ports back. He cursed the Creator for their decision to create storms. He cursed the Guardians for not being present to guard him. Finally he cursed the compass for being sensible and deciding that ships were terrible things and abandoning ship sometime in the past couple days, leaving Icepaw with no clue which way was west and the safety of the Siln coast.

With teeth bared in defiance the Icepaw rushed back to the wheel, which he had had the foresight to lock into place. With a heave, the Kitsune resumed his efforts to guide the ship in what he hoped was a westerly direction. If he was wrong, he would almost certainly die, but he was committed now. So he wrestled the tiny vessel along his chosen course. The Fox’s Fate bobbed over the crashing waves, between fonts of lightning and missed the coast of Siln entirely. Instead the tiny ship was swept impossibly straight up a river for several days before the storm died down enough to allow Icepaw to safely beach the ship on a pebbled embankment. Then, the half drowned fox collapsed in a heap. His body was unable to remain conscious now that the danger was past.

Icepaw huddled miserably in his bunk. The rocking of his tiny ship was barely noticeable as it was currently partially beached on the banks of the river. The motion did not help his unsettled stomach, nor did it help his already spinning head. It had been three days since he had woken up and his body was sick and tired. Bruises covered his aching limbs and normally luscious white and blue fur had an unhealthy gray tinge to it.

Icepaw twitched his ears in annoyance and snuffled his nose before unsteadily climbing to his feet. With a shuffling gait he staggered out of the bunkroom and into the hall. He staggered down to the simple wooden door that led into the galley and opened it in a daze. There should be some cold soup he could heat up on the stove. To his relief he found the soup still hot. Apparently he had forgotten to put out the cooking fire. Not particularly safe onboard a ship if it were at sea but fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, the Fox’s Fate was beached and its mast was snapped so the motion was not enough to dislodge any of the cooking fire’s coals.

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With a sigh, Icepaw settled into a seat with a hot bowl of soup. He pulled a beautiful warm blue coat trimmed with fur that matched his own perfectly. Icepaw could not remember when or where he had acquired the coat but he thanked his past self for whatever common sense drove him to acquire it and then cursed himself for forgetting about it during the storm. It would have been very effective at keeping the rain off. With a sigh, he pulled it on. It fit him quite nicely. With the coat snuggly affixed about him. Icepaw dug into his soup. It was far more flavorful than he remembered it being earlier, but being sick did strange things to one’s taste buds. The flavorful soup helped to perk him up and he felt a little more alert and content. It was a gamy, almost like the huge pots elk soups his clan would make while huddling in the grand den. There was a dash of his father’s special seasoning, giving it a savory taste that was complimented by a healthy dose of red pepper seasonings. Icepaw could actually smell the concoction through his runny nose.

It made him just a little lonely and homesick for the warm den of his clan. For a moment he could see the large spacious den dug into a small hillside. All around the lonely hill the vast reaches of the frozen tundra of the Northern continent stretched on endlessly into the distance. But inside the den was warmth and cheer. White and blue furred kitsune, a coloration unique to the fox folk of the north, were bundled up in elk hides around a small hearth that had a tunnel dug upwards to the crest of the hill where the smoke could escape the burrow.

There was a small, sudden shift and the illusion broke into mist. With a small groan Icepaw stood up and nearly fell over, the combination of nausea and a full stomach disoriented him and broke the spell the memories had placed on him. He nearly collapsed right back into the chair he had been seated in, but he managed to stabilize himself with a long, conveniently placed object that had been leaning against the chair.

With his newly acquired walking implement, Icepaw siddled out of the galley and back down the hall, his tail happily whisking back and forth. As he settled back into his bunk to take another nap, Icepaw noted the object he had been using as a cane was an elegant, thin blade in a blue sheath. Like the coat, Icepaw did not remember acquiring it. It was a beautiful weapon and its color matched the coat. Maybe they were part of a set. With a smile and a shrug, he wrapped himself in his blankets for a good sleep. He would try to remember who he had taken them from after a good nap.

As Icepaw shifted in the bedding, he felt something small and hard dig into his back. With a yowl of annoyance, he fished around until he had extracted the offending object from the blankets. Icepaw stared at it in disbelief. Then with a surge of fury he hurled the treacherous silver compass across the room, where it struck the door with a thunk. Ears twitching in annoyance, Icepaw threw himself down onto his bed and was asleep almost the moment his head touched the pillow. He only woke when what appeared to be an odd looking elven ranger and his companion stumbled into his cabin several hours later.

Name: Icepaw

Age: 16

Race: Kitsune

Blessings:

Rapier of the Frozen Storm

Coat of Illusions