The Legend of Antonio Guitarmouse

It was a dark and long late spring in Fonteinia, particularly in the Ash Forest. Cool winds sighed lazily from the east, tired of little activity happening above the lifeless trees. Not a single bird flew by during the lonely month, which was how the forest liked it; alone, secluded, and free of rotting feathers. The gloomy moonlight penetrated through thick foliage-decorating the forest floor with patterns of light and shadow resembling broken glass shards. Were it not for its daunting lack of light, it might of looked more beautiful. Though this was a typical kind of night in the Ash Forest region; one travelers would be wise to take head from. Unfortunately for Ronzo, his lust for exploration and adventure got the better of him.

Ronzo was a sea rat of twenty one springs. Clad in a blue waistcoat and broad buckled belt, he had indulged in the adventurous life of a pirate during his time at sea. Now away from the big blue, he spent his days traveling and exploring the many different regions of Fonteinia. It was a swell hobby of his. Meeting new beasts, learning the different cultures and customs of different tribes and kingdoms, and just having witness the endless beauties the world produced made traveling a riveting experience. Though sailing was more his vocation, getting a chance to stretch his limbs than standing behind a steering wheel all day, didn’t bother him the slightest. All was well until his recent trek across the flatlands of the south landed him in a heap of trouble; once he entered the domain of Demorte Reinardus.

The rat snoozed, comforted by the lack of light and abundant leaves scattered around the rough floor. He hardly had a bite to eat and water to drink after three days of rationing his provisions carefully. While resting in what he thought was a secluded spot, he was suddenly ambushed and mugged of his belongings by one of Demorte’s patrols. They moved quietly while clad in dark breastplates, with not a piece of their equipment making so much as a jingle while tightly bound by sashes or belts. The poor rat was deprived of what food he had, some gold pieces he carried, and most tragically of all, his crystal hilted rapier. It was his family heirloom, a symbol of his full title, "Ronzo Rapier Rat". Trained by a rapier rat master in the northern mountains just as his father before him, Ronzo became a fencing prodigy. Now his honor was cut to humiliation and bound by the chains he wore around his foot paws, paws, and neck.

The patrol party that apprehended him consisted of: four rats, two ferrets, two stoats, and a particularly larger rat with pitch black fur and armor. Most likely the leader, he now wore Ronzo’s crystal rapier around his own waist. The humiliation of losing his weapon pecked at the rat’s heart like a mad bird. Losing his treasure was losing everything he had, especially for a pirate. Each second he heard the clank of his weapons steel against the head rats belt, his warriors pride would build up more inside.

How could I be so easily beaten? He thought. I didn’t even put up a decent fight.

The patrol party illuminated the night with oil cloth covered torches. The way the fire simmered under the red tree leaves gave it a blazing color of scarlet as the firelight created dancing shadows. The tree roots can dimly be seen rising up from the lifeless forest floor, reaching for the patrol like discarded souls seeking guidance in the lonesome forest. Very few guards watched their footing while escorting their prisoner. Some slightly stumbled over the tree roots or their footpaws collided with them. It was quite a hazardous environment: dark, dry, and easily flammable branches reaching for the seductive flames.

Ronzo made no attempt to struggle because of his fatigued limbs and the spears poking at his back. His futile pleas for freedom fell on deaf ears throughout the night, so he began berating his captors with threats. Brash in his actions, the rapier rat didn’t think about what his captors could do to him. But after spitting a few insults and noticing no one did anything about it, it felt good to release what furry he had in his heart through words; unable to do it by sword. Everyone ignored him, except a female rat wearing a dark purple vest who oddly pleaded him to stop.

“I’ll warn you one more time you lily livered coward,” said Ronzo to the big rat leading the party, “Release me and give me back my rapier or I'll cut ya ta ribbons the first chance I get.”

The big rat just continued walking, not so much as giving a backwards glance or acknowledging Ronzo’s presence.

“Hey! I'm talkin' ta you flea bag! I said, you’re as good as dead first chance I get my paws on you! Neither I nor the Keres will rest until your head sticks out from the tip of a pike!”

Ronzo was roughly shrugged from his side by the female rat. “Be quite you,” she whispered, “it’s not wise to anger the general. He’d tear your spine out if he was in a foul mood. Believe me you don't want to make him angry.”

Ronzo objected to this, “oh no, I do want ta make him angry. Ya hear that ya bug eyed coward! I'd like ta see how big ya are without all these spears ta back ya up! Only your wench of a mother could love a face like that!"

“Please stop it,” she urged, “you’re wasting your time anyway. He doesn’t waste his breath with the likes of you, this is a routine for him; beasts plead for freedom all the time but none ever receive it. If it wasn’t for his orders from the king you’d of been dead instead of in these chains. You should consider yourself lucky.”

“What, lucky? Your bilge rat of a king is lucky I’m in these chains!”

“Regardless, don’t throw your life away like this Ronzo, its worth more than you know.”

Ronzo’s eyes grew wide with amazement. “Wait a minute…how do you know my name? Ouch!”

“Cut the gab you, and quit talkin’ ta him Sura,” scold a ferret, “Ya always do this, always comforting our captives with false hopes of freedom. You’re only makin' it worse off for them. False hope hurts more than any whip me mum always used ta say.”

“Watch out you idiot,” shouted Sura. The ferret wasn't watching his step and tripped on a tree root, sending the torch from his paws flying straight toward nearby foliage. But in the nick of time, the big rat swiftly caught the torch just before it landed into the bushes.

He glared at the clumsy ferret and spoke in a deep voice as cold and solid as a tombstone. “Do that again ferret and we‘ll see if you‘d still believe your mums words.” The ferret cringed behind the pack, trying to hide from his leaders menacing gaze. The big rat then turned around and continued walking, holding the ferrets torch in his cold paws. With an abundance of dry leaves and twigs a forest fire could happen within seconds. The other soldiers also glared at the clumsy ferret, who now wished he kept his mouth shut.

By the time they arrived at Demorte’s castle, Ronzo was barely able to let out a gasp at the sight of the old relic. The castle stood on top of a hill with a small stream leading out of a cave and entering the forest. It had seen many battles in its age by the look of the cracked stone walls with moss trailing out of it, and by the crippled terrain which contained broken arrows and stone scattered all around. From the outside animals were seen working on scaffoldings; pulling stones and repairing the castles tall tower. Destroyed and mangled, the cylindrical marvel was the only thing that reached higher than the castle walls. Guards with bows patrolled the wall top, both inspecting the court yard and looking over the merlons to the party below. Hellish screams were heard behind the curtain wall; along with tortured sobs from woman, and even children. It sounded worse than entering any of the cruel prisons the rat had passed by during his pirating travels. But he kept strong, ready to endure whatever awaited him behind the portcullis.

The party entered as the portcullis was raised. With their duties complete, the big rat dismissed the eight others that went with him except Sura, and then entered the gloomy battle scarred castle. Inside were large red banners which hung by golden poles attached to the ceiling. Gold shields and spears were mounted on the walls, along with torches right above them. Firelight danced off the beautiful windows of stained glass by the torches outside. Soothing aromas of rich flavor came from the castle’s kitchens to their right along with guards who moved in and out of the large door with content looks on their faces. Ronzo envied them, whatever smelt that good had to have tasted delicious to boot. He predicted the succulent aroma was that of warm vegetable soup with piping hot bread and crackers, just the kind of warm meal to be had in such a cold stone dwelling.

The three left the foyer, went up the stairs, and turned to a dark corridor until they reached a large wooden doorway tall enough for a badger to fit through. Judging by the doors size, Ronzo expected Demorte to be a large beast with great power and stature. But contrary to what he thought, they were actually the same size. Within the throne room, Demorte was seen sparing with three other rats; nimbly dodging and striking with a broadsword. As the as the guests entered the room, The four occupants redirected their attention. Pleased to see the three coming in, the king handed his sword to a nearby rat, then went over to greet them.

Demorte was another black rat, identifiable by a long gash down his tail. His eyes were a fiery orange, and he had thin - sleek fur. He wasn't ragged and dirty like the three around him; in fact he was a handsome rat, if there was such a thing. His fangs were white as milk and as straight as his posture in a regal black tunic. His middle age did not take away from his looks or his fighting ability from what Ronzo had witnessed either.

Coming to a halt, the big rat took a regal bow before kicking Ronzo to his knees. “My lord, we’ve subdued this pathetic whelp traversing freely at your borders, and came armed with this.”

Demorte’s eyes lit up with pleasure, the shiny blade twinkling before his eyes. “My my, what a beautiful thing.” Demorte moved closer to hold it in his paws, and suddenly gasped upon touching. “And warm too? My, what a wonderful stranger you’ve found here Matar.”

Ronzo winced as Matar hauled at his chains to stand. “I believe he’s a scout, sent by the western kingdoms to foil our plans. Now that he knows our location we mustn’t let him live sire.”

“I’m not a scout,” shouted Ronzo, “I’m just a traveler who happened to get lost in your—.”

“You speak when spoken to scum!” Whomp! Falling back to his knees, Ronzo coughed as Matar landed a powerful blow to his abdomen.

“Enough Matar,” spoke the king, “be gentle to our special guest, if he says he’s not a spy — then he mustn’t be a spy. There’s no need for violence.” Ronzo’s eyebrows shot up like twin arrows. Why is it that the same beast that made the laws which captured him, is now showing such courteously.

Demorte handed the blade back to Matar. “This certainly is a marvelous weapon, don’t you think so my general?”

Matar stood to attention, “nothing compared to your claymore my liege.”

“Hahaha, indeed, now release him and return his weapon would you.”

Matar was taken aback by his kings request, “Excuse me my k~.”

“Did I stutter Matar,” Demorte glared, “return his weapon at once.”

Not wanting to provoke the king any further, Matar did as he was bid, and dropped the sheath that held the stunning weapon by Ronzo’s side. Everyone in the room other than the king and Sura was baffled. With his blade tossed by his side, the fire that was Ronzo’s rage was slowly rekindling. Vehement glances were exchanged between him and the general; glances that mentally tore at each other’s throats in a blood thirsty rage. Placing a paw to his own sword, Matar kept close watch on any sudden movements.

“I said release him Matar! And when you’re finished leave my throne room at once. The sight of you and your subordinate vexes me.”

Matar bowed and nodded to Sura. Never once did Ronzo take his eyes off Matar, nor did Matar to Ronzo. But the rapier rat cooled down slightly with Sura undoing his bonds. Once the shackles fell to the floor, the time to strike had come. Only, Ronzo didn’t, for Sura’s sake, remembering what she told him in the forest.

“Matar,” Demorte shouted. As if snapped out of a trance, Matar took his eyes off Ronzo and looked back to his king. Not wasting another minute, the large rat left, as well as Sura and the three others who were originally in the room with Demorte. Ronzo slowly strapped his rapier back around his waist, not knowing what to expect from the king. He was seemingly armless, though one couldn’t tell whether he had a concealed weapon hidden in the long sleeves of his tunic or not. Though his humble face spoke otherwise, his fiery eyes presented a different language. There were much deeper - darker intentions within them; a bloodlust Ronzo had never known before, which made him grow slightly frightened.

Fearlessly walking toward the rapier rat with paws spread out in a humble embrace, Ronzo timidly wrapped a paw around his weapon. Perplexed of this defensive action, Demorte lowered his paws, his body shaking from mirthful chuckles. “Come now weary traveler; I release you, grant you back your weapon and only wish to give a proper welcoming to my castle and you ready yourself for battle?”

Ronzo kept his paw to the hilt of his rapier. “Forgive me, but the hospitality I’ve received from your grunts speaks ill of you.”

“You speak the truth, and I ask for your forgiveness,” Demorte gave an elegant bow. “That brute Matar is my most dedicated and loyal. My laws are the very guidelines he lives by, which, I too admit need touching up. But allow me to introduce myself. I am Demorte Filius Reinardus, king of these parts and ruler of the Ash Forest. May I ask whom I have the honor of speaking to? Such a marvelous blade must belong to a warrior of untold prestige.”

Feeling a tad more comfortable, Ronzo relaxed, but still kept a paw to his blade. “Ronzo Rapier Rat. Son of Captain Rolenzo.”

“Hahahaha, Rolenzo’s son, you don’t say? I never knew your father but tales of his auspicious stature ran rampant around Fonteinia for a century. It was said he had been swallowed by maelstroms, captured by cannibals, and even struck by lightning, and through it all he survived the same charismatic fellow Fonteinia knew him to be. And now his son arrives at my castle. This truly is an honor. We will have much to talk about during your stay here.”

“Erm…thank you sire,” Ronzo said nervously, “but with your permission I’d rather be on my way.”

“And why’s that?”

Ronzo looked to the ground for inspiration. There wasn’t a kind reason in the world why he wanted to leave. The abuse by Demorte’s so called servants was enough to make any beast stay away from this castle. That and beyond all the hospitality and kind words, there was still poor tortured souls screaming in pain outside the walls of this room.

“I’ll tell you what,” said Demorte, walking up to the throne behind him. From its side he produced a large claymore with steel as black as coal and dark crystals resembling violet flames, located at each edge of the blades hilt. He held it in his right paw, expertly twirling it left and right with great ease. Looking back to Ronzo, the rat king gave a devilish grin. The iris of his eyes danced madly like flames, ready to consume everything in its path; ready for anything.

“If you can defeat me, you’re free to go. But if not, then we’ll have plenty of time to talk about your rigorous travels. Deal?”

Ronzo wasted no time in drawing his blade, “Deal.”

Pleased by this, Demorte saluted, and Ronzo did the same. The duel begun as a stare down, both beasts circling each other, waiting for the other to strike. But with each step they took, Ronzo’s heart would skip a beat. His blade dwarfing Demorte’s tremendous one, along with his opponents fiery eyes made him gulp. This wasn’t the typical sloth like king who had his guards do the fighting for him. This one was something else.

Suddenly, with lightning speed Demorte lunged, the blade narrowly cutting a hair off Ronzo’s chin as he parried it. Troubled by the claymores distance, Ronzo continued side stepping, looking for an opening. But the speed in which Demorte struck, continued to baffle him. It wasn’t until Demorte swung upward that Ronzo lunged himself, but missed as Demorte sidestepped. In a unpredictable dance, the two exchanged blows as the room was filled with the chorus of steel ringing upon steel.

Dazzling sparks violently showered on the long red carpet, singing - embracing the fabric warmly. The friction of paws traversing across it fired it up. Demorte as well as Ronzo moved as if stepping on hot coals. Neither of them giving in - letting up - not allowing the other a second of refuge.

It wasn’t until Demorte decided to aim a slice for the head that Ronzo ducked. Quickly moving in at a close range, Ronzo commenced with his attack. With a flurry of elegant slashes, he tried ending it quick before Demorte had a chance to regain his composure. Left - right - lunge, every back and side step Demorte took to evade, Ronzo was right beside him. It wasn’t long until the relentless swipes of the rapier caused the king to tumble.

With Victory a lung away, Ronzo gave a stylish twirl to end the duel with his signature attack, “The Crystal Shower”. Before his opponent could get back on his paws, the fencing prodigy unleashed a rapid series of strikes. Stabbing with lightning speed, sparks showered between them as steel continually clashed with steal. Parts of the carpet began to slowly ignite. The sleeves of Demorte’s tunic ripped and tore as Ronzo stabbed his sword randomly about. The king couldn’t hold up his defense for much longer. Predicting where to block and when at such lightning speeds was nearly an impossible task. The sweat sliding down his brow even began to sizzle, as rising temperatures from friction centered around his body. He had to act fast before being filled with enough holes to accommodate a flock of birds.

Carefully timing correctly, he rolled to his left; wincing as a random stab grazed the side of his arm. Ronzo was forced to stop his barrage, his arm laying lifelessly at his side. The attack took a lot of energy out of him, making his arm soar. The rapier dangerously slid away from his paws, giving into fatigued. Aware of this, he backed away, and held the sword in his left paw. Heart racing and legs moving sluggishly across the floor, losing their former nimbleness, he took his stance. Poised as ready as could be; realizing his brash attempt at victory most likely will be his last.

With distance between them at last, Demorte mercilessly hacked away. While the flames grew behind him, the light it illuminated wrapped the king in a dark silhouette; his eyes being the only source of color throughout his body. There was a bloodlust in them - a never ending thirst for pain on the behalf of his enemies. It was as if hell itself had let loose one of its most sinful demons to wreck havoc upon the world, and Ronzo was just a form of amusement.

As he suddenly got close, Demorte smacked Ronzo across the jaw with the claymore’s hilt, ruthlessly disarmed him with a powerful blow, and kicked the rapier rat to the ground with the tip of the claymore at his neck. Ronzo placed a paw to his cheek, feeling warm blood trickle down it from a scratch made by the claymores sharp crystals. With death but an inch away, he took one last breath of fresh air, and turned his head away, preparing for the worst.

Ronzo jumped in fright upon hearing the claymore stab something, but was surprised to feel no pain. He opened his eyes to see Demorte, slicing and separating the enflamed carpet from the non torched parts, then folding it up with his blade to put it out; all while inspecting his own injury to his arm. The mirthful chuckling coming from the king made Ronzo shiver. Then, their gazes met, Demorte’s wrathful eyes freezing Ronzo where he lay.

“My my,” said Demorte, “how beautiful. I haven’t felt this excited for a long time. No one in ages, has ever been able to make me bleed, until now. Congratulations Ronzo, you performed exemplary.”

Ronzo was at a loss for words. What was a matter of life and death for him, seemed like an act of amusement to Demorte.

“That certainly is no ordinary sword. My obsidian claymore was crafted by one of Fonteinia’s most brilliant blacksmiths. And even so, my blade was not enough to so much as dent yours. We certainly will have lots to talk about, you and I.”

Ronzo groggily stood up; his right arm still fatigued from his signature move. “Alright…what do you want to talk about?”

“Come, join me,” said Demorte, looking out the balcony behind his throne. Ronzo moved to retrieve his rapier, but stopped as Demorte cleared his throat. “Unless you care for a rematch, I’d leave your rapier were it is. Its not going anywhere.”

Ronzo looked to his rapier, then Demorte, then his rapier again. The thought of parting with it, even temporarily, didn’t please him. But a rematch was something his starved, energy deprived body couldn’t afford. That, and he wanted to leave the castle as soon as possible. If talking was all Demorte wanted, then Ronzo would make sure to give short answers.

Outside the balcony was the dark Ash Forest, the court yard, and pitiful looking creatures laboring to reconstruct the damaged tower. Demorte seemed to relish all the suffering as he took in some of the cool nights air. “Tell me Ronzo, what do you see?”

Ronzo glared at the sight down below, “I see slavery, malice, and pain. What do you mean in asking me this?”

Demorte chuckled, “Oh come now Ronzo, I would expect a pirate like yourself to understand. Isn’t it your vocation to plunder and pillage?”

“I’m not that type of pirate.”

“Is that so? Well then, its no wonder your traveling around. What crew would want you, hehehe.”

“Insult me all you like,” Ronzo whispered, “I live with myself just fine.”

Demorte raised an eyebrow, “and you think I don’t?”

“I’m shocked that you could. How could you, a king, do this to innocent creatures? It’s this kind of wickedness why my father fought against. He plundered from other corsairs and liberated slaves. Even as a swashbuckling lowly pirate, he was thrice the rat you are.”

“Aww, come now dear Ronzo, your hurting my feelings. I don’t doubt your father was a great rat, and I would be honored to meet him. The truth is, these aren’t innocents you seem laboriously working out here. They’re rebels - criminals - sinners who need to be reminded what the consequences of revolting are.”

Ronzo slightly backed away, shocked at the words he heard. “What do you mean?”

The wicked sweet face king looked to Ronzo with eyes half open. Tired as if he’d already explained why many times in the past. “You see Ronzo, there was a time when prosperity and piece was in Fonteinia, a time when the superior species ruled. My master brought order to the land, but one mouse ruined it; destroying everything my master and I achieved. With thunder and fire, my master was able to destroy the fiend, at the expense of his own life and the tower these beasts currently are reconstructing. They were part of the war mongering society that started all this, and now they‘re paying the price. But only for a time. What Fonteinia doesn‘t know is, I‘m still alive, and plan to finish what my master started. Rats will once again rule this country with an iron paw, and my masters empire shall rise again. And you, my fellow rat, will have the honor in helping me.”

“Never, why should I?”

“Because Ronzo, it is your duty to our species. The minute your eyes glanced upon my castle your were doomed. I can’t have you going around telling others of our location. Rats will finally take their place as rulers of Fonteinia, and no longer as the scum of cities and the beggars of towns. I can’t let you leave this place. That’s why, Ronzo, you have two choices. You can’t either join me as a soldier, or as a slave. What will it be?”

It took Ronzo all of ten seconds to decide. He also noticed that he was a safe distance away from the length of the claymore. Looking back to his Rapier lying on the floor, he made a mad dash to retrieve it. There was no plan of a rematch running through his head, only escape - escape from this psychotic king.

“You fool, guards!”

Suddenly, a group of five rats burst through the door, armed to the teeth with ropes and spears. Ronzo ignored them, his rapier just a tails length away. It didn’t matter how fatigued he was, a few parries and it was a clean shot for the door. But it wasn’t meant to be. One of the rats skillfully lassoed Ronzo around the neck and pulled him back, causing him to writhe and gasp for air. The other rats did the same around Ronzo’s body and paws, wrapping them behind his back.

“Stand him up,” said Demorte, standing before the captured rat. The fury in his orange eyes had returned, only difference was now Ronzo didn’t feel fear, but hatred. “We could’ve ruled Fonteinia together, but perhaps through hard labor and hunger, you’ll come to change your mind. Until then, your sword will be among the many armaments to fuel my conquest.”

Ronzo didn’t answer. Instead, he gathered as much saliva in his mouth as he could, and rudely spat in the king’s face. Not taking kindly to the insulting gesture, Demorte held his claymore high, and smacked the side of Ronzo’s head with the pommel; Ronzo’s limbs then fell like rocks.

“Disgusting,” said Demorte, wiping the spit from his face, “take this filth away to the dungeons, and bring Scrall to me at once!”

“Yes my lord,” the guards said in unison, walking out with the new prisoner.



* * *



Down in the dark damp dungeons, the guards looked for an empty cell. It was a new experience for them to send a fellow rat to be locked away, but orders were orders. Along the way some of the other prisoners allowed there curiosity to get the better of them. There was a large chorus of gasping and muttering among themselves. Never had a rat that wasn’t a guard walked in the cold dim lit passageway. Some even rubbed their eyes and bit themselves to make sure it wasn’t a dream. But indeed it wasn’t. Some of the guards grew annoyed of their curiosity and scold them. One guard even got close to running his spear through a squirrel, but was stopped by the officer of the group, who then ordered to pick up the pace. The sooner they left the cold underground the better.

By the time they reached a suitable cell, the passage they had just walked through was in an uproar of hate, confusion, and questions. The officer of the group grew more impatient every passing second.

He growled, “quiet, the lot of you! Or I’ll give ya somethin’ ta shout about after a few lashes! Hurry up and throw him in there, this place is makin’ my fur freeze up.”

Agreeing with the officer, they threw him in a cell occupied by an old grey furred mouse. “Play nice with this one Freddy, he’s a real fighter, should provide you some real amusement.”

The five of them cackled as they walked back down the passage. The old mouse crawled to the limp rat, dragging a ball and chain as he moved. He also gasped upon noticing his cellmates rodent features. Sitting right beside him, he cradled Ronzo’s head onto his lap, wiping away the puddle of blood across his cheek. The mouse put a paw to the side of the rat’s neck, and gave a content sigh to find out he was still alive. Lonely tears cleaned the dirt off his face. Using them, he wiped the blood stained fur of Ronzo.

More chains rattled as the occupants around the mouse’s cell moved closer to speak. “Fredrick,” called a squirrel, “who you got with you, another mouse?”

“No,” Fredrick whispered back, “it’s a rat.”

One of the occupants in the squirrel’s cell sat with his back to the wall. Sparkling tears ran down his face uncontrollably. He pulled in his legs and laid his head down on his knees. Understanding the cause of the mouse’s grief, the squirrel sat beside him, patting his back. More whispers were exchanged from cell to cell, passing down the confirmed rumor. Slowly, the dungeons came to life with uproarious cheering echoing throughout their dark underworld. Their slavery was forgotten, and their spirits were lifted.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, the old mouse smiled. “God be praised.”