Closed Distant Deeps or Skies

[Postmaster]

To whom it may concern,
•───────── April 10, 124 ────────•

The Cat Post had been in operation for a little more than a year, and was still something of a curiosity in Hesperia. The cats would arrive in town or depart by boat, jingling gently, saddled with bags full of letters from the good Faelnir of the capitol, and small packages. Each arriving cat made a circuit of the town, collar bells jingling gently as they went diligently from door to door, delivering their messages.

It was tempting, maybe, for the children to chase them; certainly, any number of footpads or ill-inclined snoopers had thought about simply scooping up one of the protesting cat deliverymen and pawing through their letters. They were stopped, in the main, by a combination of conscience, the ill reputation of the act, and the fact that the delivery cats were generally accompanied by a tiger.

(It is possible that one of those three reasons was paramount.)

This day, however, two cats arrived- one carrying post and guiding the tiger, as usual. The other, however, had a queer container of rolled-up parchments and a collection of pins. At each opportunity which presented itself, the cat affixed a note to public places, which read:

HELP WANTED

A researcher and analyst in fields scientific seeks assistance in the apprehending and subsequent apprehension of a variety of beasts of the fold and forest. Payment to be negociated per assignation. These beasts will be generally of the variety and opinion that treat men and aelf alike as prey and fulsome meals, but this job will require they be taken alive. Please do not apply if you expect to be slaughtered and thereupon devoured.

Please apply upon the docks between the tenth and fifteenth of the month. Ask for Sphinx.

Thank you for your time.

Those with more curiosity than sense followed the instructions and found that the Cat Post had rented a small warehouse off the river and set up a small office therein. At the front, sat a woman, sort of.



Sphinx had requested a chimeric form for the interviews, anticipating that it would be easier to deal with people if they didn't spend their entire time staring down and trying to understand how a cat was talking to them. This was... mildly better, perhaps, but it was still hard enough to express to the applicants that what the poster was seeking was not hunters who could take wolves and boar down without killing them.

"I just don't think you've heard me aright." the tired woman said to the fourth man that day, "We're looking for BIG game. Think less elk and more... Mæntyger."

"And you posted for that in the public square?"

"It wasn't my idea." she replied, exhaustion plain in her voice. "Why don't you just head out, then?"

"Now hold on, girl." the hunter said, insulted and annoyed at having his time wasted, "I expect some manner of compensation for my time with such a stupid matter. Why-"

One of the two tigers snoozing at the sides of the desk roused as the man raised his voice, turning his head to look up at him. It didn't bare any teeth, but it did let out a great huff, sending a warm wash of bad-smelling breath over the man. The hunter quieted, staring at the huge cat for a moment, then turned, walking quickly out the door. He did not begin swearing to himself until there was a solid door between him and the office.

"...thanks, Femi." said Sphinx, leaning over to rub the great cat under the chin with one hand. Femi snorted noisily, then settled back to his nap, leaning just a little bit into the transfigured cat's hand. Sphinx turned to look at the paper where she'd been dutifully recording the results of the interviews. Bad, bad, bad and worse. It seemed they were going to have scant more luck in the witch's grove than back in the Faelnir capital. It disappointed her at a fundamental level; she'd left her children for a week, for this?

Maybe they'd have better luck in Paradise, but she doubted it, and if Post thought she was going all the way out there on a lark, he had another thing coming.

•══════════⊹⊱❖⊰⊹══════════•​

Yr. Obdt. Svt.
Postmaster

 

[Khafra]

Lakali had been recommended by one of the white-orks to sit beneath a sign if he was to stay in their good graces, to not be seen skulking, and to limit his movements.

That sign read: "Visiting gnoll, do not panic." Beneath he sat upon a little wooden chair, and a table by his knees. It was nice for now, if uncomfortable. Hopefully it wouldn't rain soon. Many came by to ask Lakali questions about the Vokhai, and how they could be sure he wouldn't, and I quote: 'eat the progenies' (of the white-orks).

They were never satisfied, but his plan to acclimate the village to his appearance so he could get more work from them was at least showing promise.

The strangest thing about Hesperia wasn't the white-orks, or their strange little lives, or even the freakish-limbed stick aelf who smelled a little funny.

It was the cats.

They came, and they went. Like any in Hesperia, they didn't like Lakali much. Clearly they were pets, but they seemed smarter than pets. In many ways they were as mindful as a powerful, well-trained warbeast in their own rite.

Clearly, something was amiss.

Fidgeting, rocking back and forth in his chair, Lakali saw every little thing that traipsed by. Including that big tiger, with the smaller carrying out a task of posting yet more signage.

Driven to learn more, Lakali stood abruptly as soon as the cats wandered off.

There was a stir, murmurs and shouts of panic as he walked forth.

"Goodness, that loathsome beast is on the move again!" spoke a startled white-ork with curly-cues and a girdled dress, her face caked in make-up. She gave him a wide birth, crowds crossing the street to avoid him just as she had.

Walking up to the sign, Lakali reached down and tried to angle it up towards his head, but he ended up tearing it in twain. "Ghagh, white-ork paper too fragile, EH-heh," he harumphed, lifting both halves to eye them and piece apart their riddles. "Apply upon the... docks, a researcher and a what. Ahh-he-he, 'help wanted'. Beasts alive?"

This sounded like exactly what Lakali was looking for. Even if he could barely read some of those fancy words.

. . .

It took a great deal of time since none would give Lakali directions without scurrying away or making up some excuse to avoid him, but Lakali did find the warehouse.

He and the hunter shared a look. "Hah. Didn't get the job, white-ork - he-hee?" Lakali said, trying to be friendly while the man hurried past.

What the man said in response, Lakali dared not repeat. As far as he could tell, he had been invited to bed with a man who seemed to hate him? That was a euphemism, right?

No sooner did Femi settle down before a boisterous thud drum hollowly though the building, Lakali clapping his strapped chest with a paw. "Lakali the gnoll comes for cat-job! He-HE. Hah."

Then he saw the white-ork with cat ears, and it immediately made him deeply uncomfortable. Just what were these people doing with cats? His features tightened, hackles lowering, but he still smiled with all those big teeth because he couldn't help it. "Ehm, Lakali is Exod'ii, Aboot-eer. He freeze any beast, take back alive for half-cat," he clarified more quietly, before lifting a paw to cover his muzzle while he turned his eyes down to the floor, a guarded gaze sweeping between the big cats in the room, muffling his voice to Sphinx for a very private, but very important question that would surely shatter what little respect he had for white-orks. "And - Lakali isn't from Hesperia, are the white-orks take cats as mates?"

 

[Postmaster]

To whom it may concern,

•───────── April 10, 124 ────────•

The sudden appearance of the gnoll startled Sphinx no less than any of the other Faelnir of Hesperia, but her reaction was simultaneously more muted and more extraordinary. Her eyes widened, and she blinked, ears falling back alongside her head, tail suddenly standing straight on end; but she did not scream, or try to run away or attack Lakali, as so many of the village's natives had. Though she'd never encountered one of the savage beastfolk, it was hardly the strangest or most horrifying experience she'd had in the Post's employ.


"Wh- who- wha-?" the woman managed, her face a picture of confusion as she took the furred creature in. He towered over her, seated or no, and those teeth would have put a wolf's to shame. She could sense the alarm and anxiety in Postmaster's familiars, lazy beasts though they were. The tigers both stared at the gnoll's face with rapt attention, looking ready to pounce.


(Or, more likely, bolt. The big cats might be imposing, but their master spoiled them rotten, and she'd never seen either actually fight anything at all.)


Sphinx's stupor lasted an embarrassingly long time, Lakali's declaration of power insufficient to shatter her surprise. It was only when the gnoll raised the obvious question that she returned to reality. It wasn't the first time today she'd gotten a question in that vein, but something about the phrasing particularly needled her.


"Take cats as... what! No!" The woman sprang to her feet in a pointless attempt to close some of the gap in elevation between Lakali and herself, leaning into the desk with both hands. "That wouldn't- how would that... you couldn't conceive like that...!"


There were certainly some... strange... thoughts which came upon some of the Cat Post's employees; it was only to be expected when any intelligent race was condemned to spend a great deal of time in the body of a beast. Sphinx, however, had no intention of discussing any of that. Instead, she took a deep breath, gathering the shattered remains of her composure. It was just as well that Postmaster wasn't here to see this, or he'd spend weeks teasing her about how worked up she'd gotten.


"No, no, no." she said firmly, "The Cat Post is run by a cat, um, spirit, and he changes us to be more like cats for... for complicated reasons, but nothing to do with mating." As far as she or any of the other Post employees could tell, the capricious Rakshasa had absolutely no interest in sex at all.


Having rebutted Lakali's query, Sphinx sank back down into her seat, keeping her hands resting on the table to hide the residual shaking in her hands. "I'm Sphinx, secretary to Postmaster. You are an arcanist?" A vaguely hopeful note entered her voice. "My master is looking for someone to help him capture a mæntyger- a big flying beast. For, uh.... mail delivery. You think you can freeze one alive?"


•══════════⊹⊱❖⊰⊹══════════•

Yr. Obdt. Svt.

Postmaster