We Happy Few: A Ferret's Tale

[Skyblade]

All three of those sections are well written. The first one in particular is intriguing. I like this fanfic.

Also, seeing the villains having the upper hand amuses me for some reason

[Groddil]

Chapter 9 - Turnob Proves Himself

Several days had passed, and as time passed, more plots continued to form. Turnob and Grubslug had been assigned to Dibbun Duty, and now lounged about in the rafters, keeping one eye on a thick wooden door leading into the top attics. Turnob glanced lazily at the vermin assembled in the hall below. Malumgula stood in front of the lines of troops, while Vinarya danced around a small fire. The wildcat waved his blade in the air, yelling orders and plans.
"...And now, we start to grow lax. We sit about and grow fat in our new castle. But all is not well. Soon, the stripehound and his longeared slaves will learn of what happened here. Somebeast will travel here soon enough, and find out what has happened. We cannot let them prepare. We are to rest for a few more days, and then, we will strike. Already, vermin from the nearby woodlands are being recruited into my army. We will destroy the stripehound and his forces, and then, we will have another fortress. A fortress even stronger than this place. A fortress whose walls will never fall if held by our strength! With fish, and seabirds, and good weapons galore! When three moons have passed, we will march for the Mountain of the Fire Lizard!"
Turnob cheered down, his shouts mixing with that of the other vermin. But there was one who did not cheer. Frond, the fox, his paw gripped tightly on his dagger. The ferret caught a glimpse of his face, a sort of evil grin. Brushing it off, Turnob turned to Grubslug.
"'Ey, Grubby. 'Ow long dye reckon it'll be afore dey starves in dere?"
"I dunno. Depends if dey makes it t'ree days or not."
The ferret shook his head.
"Nah, I 'eard Malumgula'll be leavin' some o' 'is most trusted soldiers ta guard th' castle. They ain't escapin' any time soon. Certainly not widout any vittles."
Turnob patted the nearby knapsack.
"Well we gots plenty o' vittles. Bread an' grog an' damson pies. Good food fer good guards."
"Hand them over, then."
The two vermin sprung around to look at the speaker. A thin mouse stood in the open doorway, her paws shakily gripping a window pole.
"Hand over the vittles, or I'll push ye off that ledge."
Grubslug reached for his spear whilst Turnob gripped the handle of his cutlass. The mouse poked the window pole forwards, not wanting to leave her narrow chokepoint.
"Put those down. I'll do it, I will. I'll charge outta here an' knock ye both off inta space!"
Grubslug dropped the spear, and motioned to Turnob to do the same. The ferret unsheathed his cutlass and tossed it on the ground.
"Okay, the food. Toss it here."
Turnob picked up the knapsack and tossed it to the mouse. Before she could retreat into the attic; however, Grubslug kicked the spear up into his paws and flung it. The mouse instinctively raised the knapsack and window pole, which the spear thudded into. That split second was all Turnob needed. The ferret snatched up the cutlass and bounded over to the mouse. She dropped the knapsack just in time to see Turnob plunge his blade into her chest. The mousewife spat a glob of blood and spit into Turnob's face, before slumping against the wall. The ferret withdrew his sword and wiped the blood from his eyes. He kicked the knapsack out of the way and called Grubslug. Inside the attic, several dibbuns huddled fearfully in a corner. But for each living babe, there were at least two bundles of cloth piled together in the far side of the attic. It had not been easy for the babes, who were terribly thin. Turnob held his cutlass limply.
"They're only babes, Grubby. What do we do wif 'em?"
"The wildcat wants 'em, I'll go get 'im."
"Is 'ee goin' ta kill 'em? They're so young..."
"Shuddup, stop goin' soft. I'll fetch Malumgula, yew keep an' eye on 'em."
Turnob nodded, watching as Grubslug marched out of the attic. The ferret turned around, and he was alone with the Dibbuns. Staring at him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Although it seemed like forever to Turnob, Grubslug soon returned with Malumgula, several other vermin, and a large sack. The wildcat nodded. "Very good. Start loading them in here."
Turnob began slowly prying the Dibbuns apart, and stuffed one into the sack.
"What'll be done wid 'em, boss?"
Malumgula shrugged, stuffing a molebabe into the sack.
"I dunno. They're pretty young. They'll 'elp in th' kitchens, or they'll be sent ta th' flames. Depends on 'ow good they works."
Turnob shivered at the thought, and continued with his duties. The attic was eventually cleared of dibbuns. All the living ones, anyway. Malumgula and the vermin departed, leaving Grubslug and Turnob to collect the knapsack. Then, the pile of corpses moved. Grubslug pushed his spear in amongst the bundles, and lifted a tiny hogbabe out. He deposited the creature into Turnob's paws.
"Ye've gone soft, Turnob. Ye say yer a vermin? Prove it. Throw 'im out the window."
"But, wot if Malumgula finds out we killed 'im?"
"We'll say that 'ee took one look at us an' jumped out the window like the stupidbeast 'ee 'is. T'row 'im out."
Turnob stepped up to the window. Why had Grubslug become like this? There was more to this rat than met the eye. The mood swing, the strange sword. This wasn't the Grubslug he had spent the winter with, shivering with cold and muttering about ships. Turnob glanced back at the rat, who glared at the window. He couldn't make his only "friend" suspicious. Then, all of a sudden, the dibbun changed Turnob's mind for good.
"Yowch! The little so an' so spiked me!"
Turnob kicked the window open and threw the little hogbabe into space. He ripped the spine from his paw and flung it out after the poor dibbun.
"Come on, let's 'ead back ta th' ground floor."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Malumgula's announcement of how he would attack Salamandastron had a far bigger impact than the wildcat would ever dream. Some vermin, especially the new recruits, were excited about their shot at revenge. But others, led by Frond and Sharplips, were not. The weasel sat in a tree in the orchard, keeping a lookout, while the fox convinced more and more vermin to join him in taking over the horde. A stoat who disagreed with the plan found himself tied to rocks and thrown in the Abbey pond, before he could let Malumgula know. But the biggest threat to Frond's plan came from his most trusted ally: Sharplips. After the conspirators broke up, the weasel soon found himself staring into Malumgula's eyes.
"So, Frond is planning to take over my army?"
"Y-yes Chief. 'Ee plans ta slit yer t'roat tonight, an' 'ave us live in Redwall ferever."
"Idiot. As soon as th' stripe'ound finds out, Frond and all of his traitor allies'll be slaughtered. Leave me. Speak nothing of our meeting to anybeast, or you'll meet the same fate as Frond."
As Sharplips scurried off, Malumgula motioned to Turnob, who was passing by.
"You there, Turnob."
When the ferret reached him, Malumgula lowered his voice to a whisper.
"You are loyal to me, yes? I can trust you?"
The ferret nodded once. Was this to do with the Dibbun?
"Good, good. You're a good shot with that bow, correct?"
"Aye, Chief. Better'n' I ever thought I'd be."
"Okay, here is what you must do..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was dusk. Turnob stood at the top of Redwall's Belltower, his bow and quiver leaning against a wall. The ferret seized the thick rope attached to the Matthias and Methuselah bells and heaved, sending rings and peals rolling out over the flatlands. This signified the changing of the wallguard. The guards left their posts, disappearing back inside. Then, several more vermin began taking up their positions, including Frond. Turnob grinned, for Frond was the closest to the Belltower, and there were no other guards on the same wall. The ferret took an arrow from his quiver and fitted it to his bowstring. He sighted Frond, and loosed the shaft slightly to the right of the fox. The arrow flew just above Frond's head height, a few feet away. Fortunately, the fox didn't seem to notice. Turnob fitted another arrow to his string, adjusted his aim back to Frond, and slightly down. Turnob took a deep breath, and let go of the string. Frond tumbled forwards over the wall, and into the woods. His task completed, Turnob began to make his way back to the Abbey.

[Skyblade]

Well done. This chapter makes Turnob even more of an interesting character.

Then, all of a sudden, the dibbun changed his mind for good.
"Yowch! The little so an' so spiked me!"

That first sentence is great. However, I was confused for moment about who said the dialogue that followed. I know the story implies that it was Turnob, but still.

Anyway, that scene was great. I wonder if the Dibbun is actually still alive (I think too much )

You've improved quite a bit since you first joined; I'm impressed. You're a good writer, and I encourage you to continue.

[Ashleg]

I've fallen behind. :"D

[Groddil]

Chapter 10 - For Whom the Bell Tolls

Three days and three nights had passed, quite uneventfully. The remainder of Frond's group of rebels turned to Sharplips for leadership, but the weasel maintained the stern viewpoint that his former partner had deserted, alone, during the night. He did his best to quiet the rumors of assassination, but unrest reigned supreme in what had once been Redwall Abbey. For his treachery, Sharplips had finally gained Malumgula's trust. All part of the plan...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once again, Turnob found himself sitting in the rafters. He liked it up there, away from the rest of the rabble. This time; however, he was alone. Something had... changed in Grubslug. The rat didn't seem as friendly anymore, always trying to give orders or dishing out insults. As was common with vermin, but... He didn't know. Maybe he was ignorant to change, but Turnob felt a strange ping of sadness on the morning of the last day. He glanced lazily down at the Great Hall below, where the other vermin were starting to mill, sharpening their blades for the coming battle. Their was Sharplips, skulking behind Malumgula, and Grubslug, chugging down grog like a true searat. The ferret stood up, shook himself off, and starting to head downstairs. He didn't want to be left behind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun now firmly rooted in the top of the sky, Malumgula's army had formed up into ranks on the lawn. Turnob, Grubslug, and Sharplips were among those at the front of the pack. Malumgula stood proudly in front of his forces, watching Vinarya dance around a fire. Duggor the mole, the fat hedgehog Friar, and the surviving dibbuns stood weakly to one side, covered in bruises and exhausted. The wildcat glanced at them with contempt, before turning to address his troops.
"It's been a long journey for us. But now only one road remains for us to walk. The road west, built on the bodies of our foes. Back to where it all began. Today, we leave this place. The select few of you will remain here, to guard our castle. The rest of us, we march west. We will take the Fire Mountain, slaughter the creatures who once broke us, and then, we will be truly unstoppable. With the strength of the walls of this place, and the Fire Mountain, we will take what we deserve. If for some reason we are unable to defeat them in open battle, we shall retreat back here. The badger and his rabbits will never breach our gates. Come, my army. We march for the setting sun!"
The wildcat turned towards Vinarya, but that was all Sharplips needed. While Malumgula's back was turned, the weasel leapt at him, embedding his spear deep into the wildcat's back. Malumgula hissed with rage as he turned, knocking Sharplips to the ground, before falling himself. The vermin all stared, wide-eyed with shock, at the scene. Except for one. Grubslug drew his blade and approached the two creatures. Malumgula was hurriedly trying to rise despite the spear in his back, but the rat kicked him back to the ground and struck. The wildcat's head rolled to a stop at Turnob's footpaws as Grubslug kneeled next to Sharplips.
"Grubby, give us a paw. I can't feel me legs, 'elp me up!"
Grubslug nodded, clasping Sharplips's paw. He placed the tip of his scimitar against the weasel's neck and hauled hard on the paw. Sharplips's head moved forwards. And so did his neck. The rat stood up and glared at the speechless vermin.
"You're mine now. Anybeast want ta challenge that?"
A stoat stepped forwards, holding a battleaxe.
"Aye. Ye think yer tough, just 'cause ye slayed a few cripples. I'll eat yer 'eart!"
The stoat swung the axe in a wide arc, but his foe swiftly ducked it, stabbing the scimitar into the stoat's footpaw. When he roared in pain, the rat had already drawn his dagger with one paw and knocked aside the axe with the other. He raised an eyebrow at the stoat, before stabbing the dagger into the side of his enemy's skull. Now, the vermin were shocked into obedience. Grubslug nodded at the captives. Find some rope, tie the young uns and the mole inta a line. Kill th' fat spikey one."
Several vermin leapt at the hedgehog friar, weapons drawn. Duggor averted his eyes from the gruesome sight, as the horde's new leader climbed to the wallstep.
"We're leaving. Now. Forget the mountain. Forget revenge. I'll take you across the seas to a land ripe with plunder and peace, full o' loot an' good vittles. With nobeast ta ever try an' tell ye wot's right an' wot's wrong. Paradise. But if ye cross me, I'll feed yer ta th' sharks. We'll be needin' those woodlanders fer oarslaves, so make sure they survives."
Turnob found Grubslug's speech blurring together into something incomprehensible. All he could think of was how his friend had changed. What was going to happen to them? What was this "Paradise?" He would have to find out.

~End of Part One~

[Groddil]

Chapter 11 - Long Road Ahead

Turnob, exhausted from several days of hard marching, could not rouse himself from his leafy bedding. It was some time before dawn. Dark. Cold. He opened one eye lazily and scanned the surroundings. Most of the other vermin were still asleep, and the slaves huddled in one corner of the camp. Too afraid to fall asleep and leave the Dibbuns to their fate, Duggor stared at the vermin with hatred burning in his tired, bloodshot eyes. Only one other creature had awoken. Vinarya. The vermin band's new leader had forsaken any form of power she might have had, in favor of a much more mundane use. She was good at lighting fires, and that was what the once-might vixen was reduced to. Every day, thanks to that blasted rat, she had to wake up early, light the fires, and start cooking for the others. At least Malumgula had some respect for her. If she ever found a way to dispose of Grubslug, she would take it without even thinking.

~~~~~~~~

Finally, after what seemed like hours to Vinarya, the rest of the vermin started to stir. Grubslug stomped around, kicking them awake.
"On yer footpaws, ye lazy scum! Git some vittles in ye, then grab anythin' ye own. We're leavin'. I ain't runnin' behind schedule. The sooner we get ta Paradise th' better. 'Urry up!"
Several vermin mumbled, but were quickly silenced under the rat's fierce gaze. Before long, the former pirate came to Turnob.
"Oi, geddup."
He dealt the ferret a swift kick to the ribs.
"I said, GEDDUP!"
Turnob groaned, and shakily rose to his feet.
"Go tie those slaves back inta line an' guard 'em. 'Ere's yer breakfast."
Grubslug grabbed half a burnt fish from the fire and handed it to Turnob.
"Now go. If we're waitin' on ya, I'll slit yer throat. Malumgula might 'ave needed ta keep everybeast around, but I got no room fer uselessness. You might 'ave proved yerself to th' cat, but you 'aven't proved yerself ta me."
Turnob nodded sadly and trudged towards the slaves. Why was his friend so different? It wasn't right. He wished the old Grubslug would come back. Murder and pillaging wasn't as fun without somebody to do it with, after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Oi, get up."
Duggor stared at Turnob with pure hatred.
"Whoi shudd oi? Ee'll just kill oi anywoi, won't 'ee?"
"No, no I won't. Grubslug'd have my head."
"Wut do 'ee want with us, vermin? Whoi are 'ee doin' this 'ere?"
Turnob shrugged.
"Do I look like I know. I'm jus' th' middlebeast. Grubslug's in charge, an' Grubslug'll decide what 'appens to ye. All I know is that we're goin' somewhere called "Paradise." But that's us, not you. I don't know what'll happen to you."
"If'n we wuz goin' to 'ee Paradoise, we'd still be at th' h'Abbey. If'n ye were just goin' ta leave anyway, whoi'd ya have to kill everybeast? Whoi didn't ye jus' leave us alone?"
Turnob kicked the mole roughly.
"Gah! How stupid are ye? Grubslug's in charge now, not Malumgula. They're different bloody creatures with different plans! Malumgula wanted Redwall, not Grubslug. Malumgula killed yer friends, an' Grubslug killed 'im. So shut yer Hellgates-damned trap and geddup!"
Turnob's shouting had awakened several dibbuns, most of which started to cry. Duggor gently silenced them.
"Thurr thurr, likkle wuns. We 'ave ta geddup now, or the bad beast'll hurt us."
They wiped away their tears and slowly stood up. Duggor placed himself between the babes and Turnob.
"Is that all 'ee wanted oi for? Can 'ee leave us'n's alone now?"
Turnob, ignoring the mole, retied the knots that linked him and the dibbuns into one line, and released them from the tree.
"Don't go anywhere. You won't get far."
The mole nodded sadly as Turnob walked off, chewing at his food.
"Err, zurr?"
The ferret whirled around.
"What?" he inquired, mouth full of fish.
"Can... Can us'n's 'ave vikkles? We're so 'ungry. 'ee 'aven't fed us since yesterday morn."
The ferret pulled an arrow from his quiver and waved it at the mole.
"Ye can either gnaw on that tree, or ye can wait until Grubslug thinks ye deserve vittles. Now be quiet, or I'll cut yer tongues out."