The man in the feathered hat was bored. Life here at RUDE headquarters was getting very dull. Not a peep had been heard form the clubhouse across the ravine in weeks!

It was time for a new plan. Rumor had it that the fishmongers wife was at odds with some of the women across they way so why not help things along abit.

A trip to the docks secured the nessicary supplies, and the stillness that seemed to overtake the clubhouse during the day provided addiquate cover. A bit of disguise work had the man looking enough like the fishmongers wife to pass all but the most intent scrutinay.

Making his way across the ravine with his fish sellers basket filled to the brim with scaley, slimey, fish tied garland fashion on an fishing line he began decoarating the lawns of the forsaken blades clubhouse leaving a poorly scrawled note behind.

"I declare war!!! Just for the Hallibut!"

The first official harvest Scarecrow now complete, and night upon the clubhouse, Tara stepped out to go place her project out into the fields. Walking slowly and carrying the scarecrow on her back she would have missed one of the staked Cod on the ground had her foot not bumped into one.

She gasped and looked down.

And what did her vampire eyes see? Rows and rows of staked fish like she was in some graveyard.

She screamed, dropped the scarecrow, and took off for the clubhouse. Once there she snatched Arthur up into her arms and began to sniffle.

"Tara, Tara..." started the doll who was pawing at her so she wouldn't smother him.

"Oh dollie, it's awful! There are staked vampire cod everywhere!" she cried.

"Vampire....cod?" Arthur said in puzzlement and managed to get free enough where he could take several breaths without pause.

"Yessum, they is all out there. That mean fish-lovin person that wrote the note is back!"

"Okay, Tara, first of all fish can't be vampires," he said with a smirk.

"How do you know?" she said.

"Because I do. They can either be a fish or a vampire, not both, so trust me these fish are just, well, fish," he said.

She made a face.

"Was there another note?" he asked.

She nodded. "Aye."

"Show me," he said.

"I don't want to go out there! What if they git me next?!" she cried.

"Tara, no one is going to 'get' you, so cut it out," said the doll who poked her cheek in frustration. "Let's go."

She walked the doll out into the front where she dropped the scarecrow and he could see all the cod staked out. They smelled horrible and they appeared to have been baked in what was the nasty effect of the afternoon sun recently gone down.

The doll sighed. "Pick up the note," he said and pointed to the piece of paper that had been turned over.

She bent down, picked it up, and showed it to him. The doll grinned.

"I like this guy," he said.

Tara's pigtails shot up. "What's it say?"

"Cod have you forgotten me already. It's code, Tara. Cod rhymes with God. Don't you git it?"

"Nuh uh," she said and shook her head.

"What happens when God forgets about you?"

"You are alone?" she said, unsure of whether or not that was correct.

"Yes, but what is the specific definition of that? The word people use to describe those forgotten by God?" he said.

"Royally screwed," she said and sat down on the porch.

"No, no, no! The word is Forsaken!"

She gasped. "Forsaken?"

"Yes. It's a direct challenge, Tara. Your guild is named the Forsaken Blades. I won't be surprised if the next note has something to do with sharp objects and whathave you," said the doll who was all proud of himself.

Tara made another face. "I dun wanna play dis game," she said.

"Well, you have to, so stop this whimpering and crying and let's come up with an appropriate response," said the doll who began to pace along her shoulderblades.

For a good hour Tara sat there and thought about how to respond and what to say but nothing came to her.

The doll, however, had a plan.

"Tara, start taking those fish off the stakes," he said and pointed to them.

She whimpered. "Oh, do I hafta, dollie? They's smell an' what if I break a nail or somefin?"

The doll growls. "Just do it and bring them back to me when you're done," he said.

Tara did as the doll commanded and soon every piece of cod was off the stakes. She placed each of them in her tutu because she did not have anything else with which to carry them and she stood there, dumbly, staring at him.

"Is done," she said.

The doll smiled and pointed to Jewel's pool next. "Go put all the fish in the pool," he said and she went to do as he said.

After all the fish were dumped into the pool, they all floated to the surface and the doll smiled.

He placed a note of his own on the ground and drove one of the stakes through it so it wouldn't fly and to get the note writer's attention. Tara looked down at it and scratched a pigtail.

"That dun make sense," she said.

"Yes, it does," said the doll. "Now, come inside, and let's see what happens," he said.

They both disappeared.

The note on the ground that was placed by the pond of the floating dead fish said:


Cod helps those, who help themselves

Friend of fish and all sea-creatures alike, Jewell was not happy when she came upon the club house the next day. She had passed a man running like the hounds of hell were on his heels- canting her head in greeting to him as he dashed by.

She was up for a swim and had headed right for her pond, which was filled with floating dead cod. She promptly screeched and had to decide quick between fainting, out of pure horror, or throwing a fit of anger. She settled inbetween, sitting down on the grass and crying rather loudly.

She picked up one of the now-decaying cod and held it to her breast, despite the stench, "Poor friend of mine!"

The pigtailed witch, or as some simply called her, Tara, was indeed out frolicking about and playing with her food which was, at present, a delectable little morsel in the form of the randy young stud named Jack.

Jack, like most boys his age, was One of All Trades, Master of None, but the one thing he was very very good at was pleasing the ladies and leaving them begging for more. The redheaded mouthpiece for the certifiably insane--another nickname she had picked up along the way-- although married was not above providing for a male in need and so when Jack approached her at the Dragon Red and invited her back to his house for a midnight snack, the bugeyed sharp-tongued babblesprocket eagerly accepted.

As luck would have it, Jack was able to fulfill his promise of being a lady pleaser right before Tara, aforesaid FruityCakeNutLoop, turned him into a quick bite to eat. When all was said and done and all that was left of Jack was a spleen, three ribs and a mutilated large intestine wrapped casually around the limb of a nearby tree, the Firebranded Spitfire of Hell's Design, moseyed on back to the FB Headquarters for a little shuteye.

Fully intent on hopping right in her coffin and catching up on some much needed sleep, she was O-positively horrified to discover that her silk and satin sanctuary had been tampered with and she would be unable to do so even though she was extremely exhausted.

"Jesus on a fencepost gone rancid!" she cried as she surveyed the scene within her coffin. One of Lazy Lilies and Cockeyed Cod.

Now it was very late, way way past the Empress's, the Kitty's and the Pix's bedtime so awakening them would not only be rude but unfair since they relied on the cover of the night to sleep while she used it as a backdrop to her nocturnal pursuits of pleasure and pain.

So the only other choice was either to wake Nick up and complain that the crazy Fish person was at it again or to go sleep somewhere else.

"Move over, dollie," she said with a grunt and pulled the handkerchief that served as his blanket closer to her neck.

"Tara! You are stealing all the covers!" said Arthur who had been forced to share his bed with his whacked out owner.

"I am not!" she replied and thwapped him one on the straw head.

"Go get your own steamer trunk!" cried the doll.

"This is no steamer trunk, dollie. It's the Trunk O Terrors," she said with a smile.

"Yeah and it's mine. I'll let you stay tonight but there is no way this is going to become a routine. Tomorrow night you best have gotten a new coffin or learned to deal with the smell," Arthur said with a huff.

"More importantly, what shall I do about all these strange messages I've been receiving?" she asked.

"Find out who they are coming from and why," offered the doll.

"Will you help me?" she asked and looked over her shoulder at him.

"I don't suppose I have much of a choice, do I?"

"No, you really don't," she said.

"That's what I thought. I'll talk to the girls for you and see if we can come up with a battle plan that is worthy of this Fish Messenger," he said.

"Oooh will it involve blood, guts and over-the-top gore?" she asked with huge hopeful eyes.

"Knowing you, yeah," said the doll with a smirk.

"Oh dollie, I do so love senseless violence," she said with a giggle.

"Yeah and I like sleep. Now shaddup and let's get to bed, we have a lot of work ahead of us," he said.

"Oh, all right. Good night Arthur," she said.

"Good night, Killa."

Several hours later commotion from within the clubhouse came to the wolf's ever keen ears. Growling out another yawn, it rose from it's resting place for the night and moved down the path to where the "action" was unfolding.

He moved inside of the clubhouse in time to see Tara head off for Arthur's place. "Guess she discovered her floundered coffin"

Well now he knew that the man he saw come into the clubhouse was NOT a member, which meant he now had more to complain about. His job was never done it seems. Padding down to Tara's room, he changed back to his human form and went about the painstaking task of cleaning out Tara's coffin.

...and as the Chief Complainer made his way outside, he was instantly treated to an upside down Cockroach Killa hanging from the overhang with the help of her claws.

She howled once. That was all it would take to communicate her desire to see the interloper that had defaced her sleepspace destroyed to the man that was very high up in her ranks, was a go-getter, a well-respected fighter and most importantly, had the ability to morph into a wolf just like she.

But for those that did not speak Lupinese, let's just clue you in to what she actually said in that long mournful howl that until then only the Lord of Gharnholme, Lucius DeAuster, the man she called Father, had been fortunate enough to hear and live to tell about it.

Dropping down from the overhang, poised upon her haunches, her body quickly began to transform and was soon covered entirely in fur. Her maw opening, the howl continuing, she said:

"The last man that came into my bedroom uninvited was a boy I like to call Mr. Squibbles because although I am very old and have seen very much, I have not yet come across a word, in any language that I have come to learn--and dear Sylus the Virus I know me many-- that can describe the sound he made when I ended him.

So, I was forced to come up with one of my own and since you know, as well as I do, that I do so love nicknaming those I deem worthy enough, suffice it to say that the sound that came out of that boy's mouth, why the way his very body writhed in agony was none other than what I refer to as Squibbling.

Now you do me proud, Sylus, you help me find this son-of-a-bitch because so help me GOD, if I'm left to my own devices on this one, I just may end up destroying the whole -censored- town while I'm at it!"

A snapping sound to the left followed by the groan of a tree branch as a considerable weight was put upon it, caused the female wolf to look in that direction.

The howling stopped and became a whimper as the female wolf cocked her head to the side. It's husband had just been snagged by one of the oldest hunter's tricks in the book and this was most troubling. Firstly because it was never meant to catch him and second, he was a Ranger, and should have seen it coming a mile away. She wondered if his abilities were slipping.

She quickly bounded over to him and leaped up in the air to try and bite at the rope but he was too high. She circled him and the tree he was caught in and in frustration began to paw at the ground. Endless digging that would yield no prize, she just didn't know what to do.

The great thing about being a vampire these days was that you could change into several forms that humans and even other supernaturals could not. One of them was a wolf which was especially awesome because they were fast, excellent hunters, and had a particular sense of smell that was useful in tracking down prey.

The bad thing about being in one of these forms was that you couldn't snap back into the original form for at least an hour after changing. She never could understand why this was, but it was a fact and one not even she could do anything about.

So, dear readers, she was at a loss as to what to do. If Sylus the Virus didn't help Nick, he was going to be stuck up in that tree for a good hour at least and this was what was making the wolf crazy.

After she had managed to dig a hole that was three feet in diameter and at least four feet deep, the wolf got out, laid down beside it, and put her paws over her head in one final, desperate whimper.

Ahh, Mr. Contagious to the rescue. What luck!

The weak female wolf lifted her head, stopped her whining, and watched Sylus as he cut her husband down from the trap and said breadwinner fell into the hole she had dug with her paws.

Kerplunk!

Looking over the edge of the hole to ascertain any damage to his body and seeing that he wasn't terribly injured, she raced in the opposite direction toward Sylus and began to jump around him and nip playfully at his hands.

This went on for several minutes followed by some happy panting and tongue wagging which only a strong male wolf-life creature could understand as her way of thanking him for his efforts and then she bounded back to where the hubby was all holed up and jumped down on top of him.

And it was there, in that hole, where she began to cover his face with a million and one weak-girlie-wolf kisses, plus some more happy panting, and a few nips to his cheeks and ears.

Then she barked, wagged her tail, and settled down on his stomach. With her eyes half-closed she appeared to be sated.

For the moment.

There was anywhere from thirty to twenty minutes left in her transformation phase and then she could get back to her old self and start raising Hell once more.

Once out of the hole, she positioned herself in front of Nicholas, and stood guard.

She growled, snapped and snarled at anything that came near him most of which were just falling leaves or even the wind. And when everything seemed quiet, she turned her face and nuzzled his leg with her muzzle or licked his hand for minutes on end. Good thing he tasted pleasant enough or she may have had a rough time doing so.

This is how it remained until the time came when she began to feel the familiar tingling all over her body which was the telltale sign that she could change back.

Lowering herself to the ground and getting cozy, she closed her eyes and focused on the task at hand and soon after, at Nicholas's feet, was the regular Tara he was used to.

Naked and with a few tufts of leftover fur sticking out in places on her skin that made her look like she had been stuffed with it but not sewn back up properly, she smiled up at him.

"Hi Lovemuffin, she's back an' yer jus' in time! Cuz she's gonna go kill the Fish person!"

Once swaddled in the husband's overcoat, the wife starts to lick his face again forgetting for the moment that she's in human form and no longer a wolf.

"Ooh, sorry bout that," she says and uses the sleeve of the coat to wipe off her spittle.

"Yessum, da fish person, right!" She lifts a finger.

"He's the guy that's been depositin dead fishes all up in her Clubhouse an' makin all her guildies on edge! Keeps mentionin a war or somefin, but the problem is, she did nuh wanna go to war until he puts the fishies in her coffin an' stinks it up! So now he hasta die," she says and nods quickly.

Cocking her head to the side, she looks up at him.

"Will you help her dispose of him, Monkeylips?"

Now things were hopping across the ravine! Finally they were talking about revenge against the fish vandal! The man with the feathered hat lounged in the crook of a tree across the ravine watching the Blades through his binoculars and mused on what to do next. Several ideas occured to the man including the stocking of the ravine with man-eating crocodiles , a good idea even if it had nothing to do with fish... but he discarded them and just decided to wait and see what the Forsaken Blades did next.

The fishmongers wife was not at all happy. Her husband the fishmonger had recived a sizeable order from the crazy women over at that forsaken house in the woods. Fifty carp, and a dozen clams and a goldfish! Those women were just insane. And the note that they wanted to go with it! That was just pure idiocy!

Carp-ful of making assumptions of who I Clam. If we were playing cards I would tell you to Gold-fish!

So once again she was making her way up the path to the forsaken clubhouse, when she encountered a woman in nothing but an overcoat, and a pair of bewildered looking men and what looked to be some sort of odd gravediggers convention.

"Delivery for Miss Rynieyn."

Across the ravine in the tree that was now comfortably equiped for spying, the man in the feathered hat could barely constrain his laughter. This latest "Gift" to the forsaken blades was the greatest! Finally something intresting happened. The fae woman seemed to have lost her wits and was attacking the fishmongers wife! This is just the entertainment that he had been hoping for.

Meanwhile at the forsaken blades clubhouse the fishmongers wife was flailing helplessly under Jewell's assult screaming out for help. She yelped especially loud when a large clump of her hair came away from her scalp with a dull wet ripping sound, leaving Jewell with a hank of hair with bits of bloody skin dangling from her fist.

Jewell was cool and collected. She liked putting that image forth and having people believe in it. It was part of her magic, or so she liked to tell herself, to pick a personality and wear it. She had been a bar brawler and had the scars to prove it. She had been a drama queen- shedding countless tears with the Red Dragon Inn as her audience. A foolish girl and a mother of seven all wrapped into one.

She wasn't calm and collected, not really. Carefree was her current personality trait of choice but when she snapped she went all out. At least, she tried to. When she pulled out that clump of hair with bloody skin dangling from it she screamed like a little school girl, "Oh my oh my!" She flung it away from her as fast as she could, dancing around from foot to foot as she wiped any skin and blood remnants from her hands. "Grooosssss!" She whined, shooting the fish monger's wife a nasty look, as if it were her fault!

If she had been more serious about the whole affair she would have tore that woman apart where she stood. As it was, the very air around the clubhouse made her feel silly. Certainly, the fish-wench had to be dealt with but a spectacle had to be made of the process.

"Jewelsie, nuh to rain on you's parade or anythin, but were you aware you have a run in you's stocking?" she said and pointed to the affected area while snickering.