The Tale Of An Immigrant - Printable Version

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The Tale Of An Immigrant - Kyzarius - Fri Nov 12, 2010 06:10 PM

It was ephemeral white. Landscape dotted with abstract shapes and nothing but near snow in every direction for miles. The deep blue sky stretched out yonder, too cold for clouds to form, a bright glare of sunlight battered upon the inhabitants of this icy wasteland who thrive in the harsh winter.


"Wake up, boy, it's time for the hunt."

A young striped, white cat laid in skins, under a roof of cool ice with his family of two. He was reluctant to relieve himself of his warm haven beneath the covers, much less actually go out to do anything useful on such a bright day.

"Up, boy, keep your mother waiting and you get no food for a week."

A gruff voice called from the cat's bedside, and soon the young one alighted to a vaguely-familiar face, a fairly rude awakening.

"You look familiar..." The skinny one said groggily, rubbing his eyes to clear his vision.

Feeling a vein had burst, the great figure lifted an arm to stuff the boy's muzzle into its pits. "Familiar?! I brought you into this world since fourteen years ago and this is how you greet your father in the morning?!"

"I AM AWAKE, I AM AWAKE." The young cat panicked as he suffocated from the smell of sweaty leather. "Oh auroras, leave me out of this foreboding mesa!" He struggled, trying to release himself from the tough hold his father has.

The great tiger of a father released him, his glossy white, striped fur marking a majestic bloodline he passed down upon to a somewhat-disappointing runt he called a son, nevertheless loved as much as it was a delight.

"The snowdeers would kick you firm and hard if you kept to the skins longer. Up you go, your mother is waiting outside preparing the sled for the gigapede hunt today." The tiger rose to his feet before grabbing a well-sharpened spear off the walls, of which it was covered in trophies that served to warm the igloo on sunless days of frost and storms. "Only cheeses, too full and I'll use you for bait instead."

"I get it. Out you go, father, I need to change." The youngster grumbled as he stretched.

The tiger's paws were lightning-fast, and the cat's ears were pulled so hard the force lifted him off the ground in no time. "What do you say?" He asked with a fire in his eyes.

"PLEASE, FATHER." Such pain had fully-awakened the cat, and his ears felt they might have grown an inch when they were pulled. With a brief nod, the tiger released his ears, and grinned widely as he went out the igloo.

"What a day I woke up to...that I had no desire of doing so." With a wince as he rubbed his pulsating temples and earlobes, he scrambled out of bed hurriedly to avoid any further scuffle with the family hunter.
-edit will continue later


He was a white-eyed, black-striped runaway. The afternoon breezes that subjugate the windmills atop the tall, whitewashed buildings of the western continents did nothing to break the straight rays of sunlight during the day when he would seek refuge again. The song of the surf had calmed the senses,


and did nothing to stave the seasick from holding their meals where they were supposed to be.

The young, fluffy male cat stretched himself as he stepped off an ice-surfer ship onto the crowded, wooden harbor, and was careful as to not step onto anybody else's tail. Only just recently passing the barrier into adulthood, it was a day to savor and start a new life where his northern kin would not. His ephemerally-pure eyes darted to and fro from corner to street, and had pondered on the wonders the civilization before him would present, shouldering his leather backpack expectantly with a wide smile upon his face.

With a great heave, the young cat ruffled his white, long-sleeved shirt before dirtying his seal-hide trousers in the swept-up dust clouds by clattering horse-drawn carriages. "The auroras blind you!" He swore loudly, raising a clenched fist. "Keep to yourself, you filthy immigrant plush!" The elk driver shouted back in equal tenacity, and the cat's jaw fell far. "What a mouth." The cat muttered under his breath, and proceeded to the nearest tavern across the street before he swears at the next horned fellow who drives a carriage.

The soon-to-be-named cat looked at the tavern's name and was struck with a pain in his chest, like black clouds with dancing lightning all about his heart; it was named The Shaven Tiger, and he himself had been born to a tiger father, and a very fierce father at that. He was drilled, trained and strained to the point where hunting even the fiercest of the northern beasts became routine to him.

Hurriedly, he entered the dimly-lit tavern. His day had began with disappointment, for his favorite trousers were dirtied in the dusty cobblestoned streets outside before he could ever declare a perfect beginning to a new life. The cat's tail hung low, and he slumped towards the bar past the many crowded tables of fellow roaring demihumans, before bumping into a very young(but very pretty) fluffy female hound maid of light brown hue. Her tan knee-length dress "Watch yer step, tenderpaw, the locals take not too kindly to immigrants like ye." Her eyes were of a soft blue tinge, much like that of an ocean's depths, but they were as wild as the torrents she bears when her duty swept her away to serve the other-specied customers.

"But I..." He was slow, and so was his pace when the torrent that was the maid before had wore his feet from under him until he felt a soft splash on the right of his face, as swiftly as she flowed away just then. "Tenderpaw, ye'd wish the dark be fanged if you'd expect another like that again." She knew what he wanted, gave him a short-muzzled smile and quickly returned to her work. Embarrassed and agitated, he simply continued toward the bar with a red-faced disposition after failing to introduce himself to a nice, floppy-eared girl of the opposite species.

The bartender was a very welcoming walrus, with whiskers longer than his flipper appendages and a belly laugh so loud, some of the bar customers sought shelter at the tables without much a second thought about it. His black-smeared apron over his jerkin paid homage to the many drinks and pints his favorite customers had come by to hear him tell stories and supply information at the cost of a mead.

"Boss, right?"

The walrus looked over the counter and found a striped white cat coming towards him, and subconsciously rummaged through his memories and recalled why. "You are the boy, Segna?" He bellowed with a wide grin. "Agna kept telling me why he was so proud of you. Three gigapede krills, some one hundred and fifty short of your father's record."

The young cat winced and felt his pride shatter at its corners. "I am not father. I am nothing worthy of comparison." His face sunk, tugging on his backpack's strings. The walrus came out from behind the counter, a vigorous waddle, and right up to the cat. "I tower before you!" The walrus bellowed, and the cat shrunk in fear. "...with open arms, boy! At ease, you are like son to me now!"

With a powerful embrace, the walrus nearly crushed the young cat in his strong, burly arms. "Just as fluffy as your father was when I met him! I grow jealous of your soft layers, get you to your room upstairs! I shall work up a meal for you tonight! You begin work tomorrow, my son!" He then beckoned loudly. "Noris!"

The young maid from before came to his call. "Yea, M'lord Tambanos?" She was cheery until she saw Segna's face. "You?!"

"I was about to introduce myself before you brushed away." Segna said to Noris, with a straighter face than his laces.

Tambanos laughed heartily and had his great hands around both their shoulders. "Ease up, you two. Noris, show our new worker his new quarters upstairs!" And he shoved them toward the stairs leading up before further attending to the rest of the curious customers who had taken to watching the walrus' antics.

Noris lead the way up the stairs, and Segna followed her warily, trying hard to avert her eyes from her fluffy, wagging tail. "Ye picked a fine time to come in, I deal not with boys too kindly." She had her hands over her bottom, and Segna shook himself free. "I never chose to be born a male, excuse me, m'lady." The cat retorted with a spat.

"One more reason why, tenderpaw. Yer eyes were needles on me tail." She said without turning while continuing to climb up.

Segna exhaled loudly, and muttered to himself, "...what a perfect start."


May* continue later. =w=

*If I'm not subject to distractions and buggered beyond belief by art requests and essays and studies of the kind.[/color]

RE: The Tale Of An Immigrant - Hollud - Sat Nov 13, 2010 02:27 PM

There is plenty of potential in this story, and plenty of places where I felt more detail could be put in. The lack of detail meant that the pace of the story felt a little rushed. This could easily stretch this short story to more than three or four times of its current length. There are a few grammatical errors, but they can be easily rectified.

I take it you are an avid writer?

RE: The Tale Of An Immigrant - Kyzarius - Sun Nov 14, 2010 01:32 PM

Lotsa things were around at the time when I was writing this lol. Artwork, essays, studies and all, so it's one big pile of grammatical mess, up in this here noggin' o' mine. It was during the night so I can't be expected to think straight, so I'd be usually on games for twitch-reflex playtime and anything else to keep myself occupied. I'll take your word though, it IS rushed lol.

And yessum I'm an avid writer. *nod*

RE: The Tale Of An Immigrant - Hollud - Mon Nov 15, 2010 11:45 AM

In that case, keep practising. It would be better (and more productive) to write stories with a more focused plot, rather than a story with a huge plot but going in all different directions. Chaptering your story would help since it gives some semblance of order and pace.

RE: The Tale Of An Immigrant - Canis Enigmas - Mon Jan 03, 2011 11:05 AM

Finally got through my usual reading-procrastination.

I have to agree with the hoss: it does feel rushed. Not particularly the overall storyline or scene, but the few occasional points and the behavior of the characters. Its most noticeable in the moment when the kit & the barmaid were introduced to each other. They behave as if they both had a history longer than the 2-3 minutes before. The kit's hatred for horned species after the starting incident seems a bit stronger than usual, unless you forgot to mention its a deeply rooted hatred from his past.

Other than that, I really love the Victorian-era Irish slang and culture depicted. The characters and atmosphere are also pretty spot on. Would recommend that you start making it a habit to write more and downgrade to a 128k line only for your online games XD