Redwall Abbey

Quote from: Capt. Leonardo V Williams on March 15, 2016, 08:34:53 PM
I would have loved to have a Redwall book that focuses on a single band of vermin, from their formation to their end, whether it be all getting killed off, splitting up after a successful raid, or really anything.

No sue-like characters: With pleasure.
No "good" vermin: There'll be some "Sneezewort and Lousewort" type characters, but that's the closest it'll get.
No sword of Martin to kill them all in one blow: Course not.

Just the trials and culture of a single band of vermin...

Someone please make a fanfic about this.

Why certainly, my dear Cap'n!

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


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

Prologue

*Crrrk...CHKK!*
*Crrrk...CHKK!*
"Hurry it up, will ye? Stupid vixen, it's cold out 'ere!"
The vixen in question was attempting to light a fire by striking some rocks together. She glared at the speaker, an aging ferret.
"Ohh, is the poor ole ferret cold? Is 'is poor wikkle toes fwozen? Would 'ee like me to knit 'im some wikkle booties?"
The ferret growled, shaking his cane at her.
"I'll knit some booties outa yer tail in a minute ye ole fossil. Don' test me!"
The vixen cackled.
"Really? Yer'll knit somethin' outta me? The killin' part I can believe, but I'd like t'see yer knit something widdout yer slitting yer throat wid the needle! An' who are ye callin' a fossil, ye ole fogey?"
*Crrrk...CHKK! ffffwwWWWWOOOOOOSHHHHH!*
"'Bout time, ya stupid ole wreck. Can't even strike some rocks together...Oww!"
The old ferret rubbed his nose gingerly where the rock had stricken it.
"Whadya do that fer? Now I'll lose me sense a smell, then I'll go deaf, then blind, then-"
The vixen stopped him with a high-pitched wail.
"AAARRGH! SHUT. UP! SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP! If you're gonna open yer mouth, at least do it by tellin' us a story. Argh, I likes a good story!"
By now, attention was being drawn to the pair. Vermin of all shapes and sizes, young and old, were settling down around the fire. The young vermin stamped their paws and sang out in a chant that echoed around the clearing.
"WE WANNA STORY!, tell us one or die! WE WANNA STORY, tell us one or die! Tell a story or we stab ya, tell a story or we stab ya! Tell us one or die! Tell us one or die!"
The old ferret widened his eyes in shock and spread his paws in front of him.
"Err...wouldn't wanna fight wid some ferocious young vermin such as yerselves. I'm talkin', I'm talkin'..."

Tell us one or die? xD

Well, as according to what Tammo had said, something like this will make an interesting story.

I wonder if we should have a contest about it. . .

Quote from: Groddil on March 17, 2016, 04:31:49 AM
"WE WANNA STORY!, TELL US ONE OR DIE! WE WANNA STORY, TELL US ONE OR DIE! TELL A STORY OR WE STAB YA, TELL A STORY OR WE STAB YA! TELL US ONE OR DIE! TELL US ONE OR DIE!"

Im going to use this against you if you take too long with a chapter  ;D
You have been warned  :P

Quote from: Groddil on March 17, 2016, 04:31:49 AM
"WE WANNA STORY!, TELL US ONE OR DIE! WE WANNA STORY, TELL US ONE OR DIE! TELL A STORY OR WE STAB YA, TELL A STORY OR WE STAB YA! TELL US ONE OR DIE! TELL US ONE OR DIE!"

My school in a nutshell.

Chapter 1 - Turnob

"Oh, 'tis luvverly t'be a vermin,
just a ferret in a big ole horde!
Oh, 'tis luvverly t'be a vermin,
Murderin' an' pillagin'; we're never bored!
Oh, 'tis luvverly t'be a vermin..."

"That ain't 'ow the song goes, you ole fraud!"
"Oh really? 'Ow does it go then? Stupid vixen, d'ya want me t'stop talkin'?"
"No, no, continue. I insist..." mumbled the vixen, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Fine! I was just a youngbeast back then..."

Singing merrily, a young ferret sat on the banks of a river, a hand-line sitting limp in his paw. The ferret felt the line begin to go taut, and leapt to his footpaws.
"Whoopee! I'll be eatin' good tonight!"
Digging his footpaws into the bank, the ferret leaned back, hauling on the line. He continued to whoop with glee at the prospect of quality vittles, for the first time in seasons. His shouting; however, was beginning to attract attention. A skinny weasel came up behind the ferret, licking his lips.
"'Ey yew. Yew shudd gimme dat fish..."
The ferret shook his head.
"No way, dis fish is mine! I'm da one dat's 'bout t'catch it!"
The weasel snarled and jumped on the unfortunate ferret, bowling the two of them into the river. Two snouts poked out of the water and the weasel steadied himself on the bank. Pushing the ferret's head under the water with one paw, he desperately tried to unreel the line from the ferret's paw. The weasel cackled as the ferret began to slow down. Gripping the hand-line tightly, the weasel kicked the ferret away from him and scrambled up onto the bank. He gulped. Standing directly in front of him was a tall, battle-scarred wildcat.

~~~~~~~~~~

This wildcat was Malumgula the conqueror, whose horde swept over the land in a scythe of death from the west coast to Southsward. All goodbeasts dared not to say the name, lest the hordes came to them next. But underneath this dark cloak of fear and notoriety was a shattered, vengeful husk of his former self. Malumgula's armies had been devastated at Salmandastron the previous winter, leaving the survivors, a measly threescore, to flee into the snow...

"Hang on, Malumgula lost the battle at Salamandastron in AUTUMN, not winter!"
"Rrrrgh, silence! It doesn't matter what season that happened, okay?"

Now it was spring. Woodlanders danced joyously as the snow melted, not knowing that their greatest fear had just come out of hibernation...

~~~~~~~~~~

The weasel's paws began to shake with fear, causing him to drop the hand-line. Malumgula swatted the weasel heavily with his paw, sending the unfortunate vermin straight back into the river.
"Were you just trying to drown that ferret, Sharplips? I thought you knew, we need everybeast we have when we go back to deal with those Hellgates' damned hares and their stupid badger. So if you go along getting rid of my soldiers willynilly, I'll have to put a stop to that. To you."
The ferret, who had managed to haul himself out of the river, coughed, spitting water everywhere. Malumgula placed a footpaw on the back of his neck.
"Why did you let Sharplips push you around?"
*COUGH, SPLUTTER!*
"I have no room for weaklings in my horde. Let that happen again, then the second I have another useful creature that can do your job twice-over, you'll be staying here forever, under the dirt. Are we clear? Well?"
The ferret continued to cough and splutter, but held up a paw to signify that he understood. Malumgula nodded with satisfaction.
"Good! Sharplips, bring that fish to my fire. You want one yourself, go catch it. BY YOURSELF, understand?"
Sharplips nodded, fortunate that he still had his life. As the wildcat retired to his tent, the crowd began to disperse. The ferret staggered over to a small fire, where sat a short, shivering rat.
"H-h-h-hey, T-t-t-Turnob..."
Turnob dusted off a small boulder and sat next to the rat.
"Why are ye so cold, Grubslug? You're not the one that got dumped in the river. Heh heh...*ACK, SPLUTTER!*"
Grubslug's teeth chattered uncontrollably. The rat raised a paw to the hole in his ear, where a hooped earing had once hung.
"I used to be a p-p-p-p-pirate. I grew up in the t-t-t-t-t-tropics. 'Tis cold out 'ere, was much nicer aboard me ship..."

"Somebeast was dumb enough t'risk bein' mates wid yew? Hellgates, this Grubslug fella must've 'ad a head injury!"
"I'm serious, vixen. That's it, I'm done. Story's over."
The younger vermin seated around the ferret glared at him in shock. He simply shrugged and nodded towards the vixen.
"If she don' shuddup, I don' keep talkin'."
There was a cry of outrage, as the young vermin stampeded towards the vixen. She felt herself being dragged down under the full force of the angry young ones. A particularly bold baby stoat tottered towards the vixen with a rock, which he proceeded to stuff into her mouth.
"No talk, wanna hear stowwee!"
Using the vixen as a seat, the vermin piled up around her and listened expectantly. Finally, the ferret felt he could hear a pin drop in the clearing.
"THANK you! Okay, where was I..."

This is really great. ;D

Good work on the fanfic :) Brilliant concept, too.

Woo! Somebody's making the story!

Quote from: Skarzs on March 17, 2016, 02:57:09 PM
Well, as according to what Tammo had said, something like this will make an interesting story.

I wonder if we should have a contest about it. . .

What do you guys think, should we make this into a competition? I'd be game to give it a shot! Alternatively, we could try a pass-along fanfic and have each person take on the role of a different vermin telling the story (I think this would make our different writing styles make some more sense and even add to the story a bit)

 Very well done Groddil, you've certainly got talent. I'll just run over certain things that stuck out at me.

Quote"AAAAAAAAAARRRGH! SHUT...UP! SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP! If you're gonna open yer mouth, at least do it by tellin' us a story. Argh, I likes a good story!"

While funny that is a bit of an odd way to introduce the motivation for story time. Also the exaggerated AAAAARRRGH doesn't really add anything. I'd suggest not making screams like that unless you want the characters to seem cartoonish. A shorter version would be less harsh on the eyes and incorporate a more hilarious sound, "Aaargh!" Looks better.

Also, it might just be a pet peeve that I dislike seeing dots in-between the words; SHUT...UP has a little line of periods that represent pause. Except they don't. The dots usually represents someone trailing off a sentence. If you wanted to make it pause but still forceful it would be in my opinion better to do, SHUT. UP!

Still a hilarious sentence.

QuoteTELL US ONE OR DIE! TELL US ONE OR DIE!"

First off, Lol! Second, loud chants don't need to be all capitalized.

QuoteHang on, Malumgula lost the battle at Salamandastron in AUTUMN, not winter!"
"Rrrrgh, silence! It doesn't matter what season that happened, okay?"

A funny little intervention by the unnamed vixen in the prologue is funny. Duh, problem is she asked for a story in the prologue as well. A good one if I remember correctly. So was she there during all this? Wouldn't she already know this tale? Are they both telling the story is it only the ferret? These are important questions! We need answers!

Ahem, anyway...

Quote"Oh, 'tis luvverly t'be a vermin,
just a ferret in a big ole horde!
Oh, 'tis luvverly t'be a vermin,
Murderin' an' pillagin'; we're never bored!
Oh, 'tis luvverly t'be a vermin..."

Is it really? Like I swear this song sounds like those Nazi recruitment songs which were targeted at younger people convincing them that life fighting for Hitler was amazing. Anyone, even a messed up, bloodthirsty varmint knows that fighting, marching, and struggling to survive sucks. The song makes your vermin band sound like a cult trying to convince its followers that, "Hey guys, we're not bored at least!"

Very well done.

QuoteI thought you knew, we need everybeast we have when we go back to deal with those Hellgates' damned hares and their stupid badger.

What? He plans on taking the LP on again. Like I know vermin warlords need to look confident after a defeat to keep their position, but seriously. If three score is measly, then they used to have a big army. And now this ol' Mugnun cat thinks he's got any sort of chance? So he is planning on some serious recruitment, or some serious training. Either way he's crazy.

I wouldn't be surprised if the remnants of his army says, "Yeah Heeeell no we ain't going back there." right before stabbing him. Or at least trying too.

Quote"I used to be a p-p-p-p-pirate. I grew up in the t-t-t-t-t-tropics. 'Tis cold out 'ere,

How did this guy survive though Autumn and Winter if he is shivering that much during the Spring?

Quotewas much nicer aboard me ship..."

His, ship...? Did he own it, was he a captain, or is he simply referring to the ship he was a crewmember on as his. Maybe he was a captain at one point, and a head injury made him forget his past awesomeness and he simply has fleeting memories of his forgotten life. Wouldn't that be a cool story arch, *Hint hint*

QuoteI WILL stop talking if you don't. Let...me...continue!"

Funny threat is funny, except it is also foolish because he has a load of younger vermin surrounding him demanding that he tell a story or they will kill him. Personally I don't know how the vixen has lasted so long after her continuous interruptions. I wouldn't be overly surprised if she gets gagged so the ferret can continuous his tale in peace.

QuoteWhy are ye so cold, Grubslug?

How is it over a winter and autumn our ferret Turnob hasn't noticed Grubslug is cold? is this the first time he has ever been curious as to why Grubslug his shivering? Or is the rat sick. Who knows....

Quote"I have no room for weaklings in my horde. Let that happen again, and you'll be staying here forever, under the dirt. Are we clear? Well?"

Huh? Didn't he just tell off Sharpy for trying to kill him? Does he need everyone to fight the LP except the unfortunates he kills? I'm going to say that it was most likely an empty threat, but a villain that makes empty threats looses his evilness. Grodds why you do this!?

QuoteWhat do you guys think, should we make this into a competition? I'd be game to give it a shot! Alternatively, we could try a pass-along fanfic and have each person take on the role of a different vermin telling the story (I think this would make our different writing styles make some more sense and even add to the story a bit)

Sounds fun Cap'n, count me in whatever you do.

Quote from: LT Sandpaw on March 18, 2016, 07:34:09 PM
Very well done Groddil, you've certainly got talent. I'll just run over certain things that stuck out at me.

Quote"AAAAAAAAAARRRGH! SHUT...UP! SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP! If you're gonna open yer mouth, at least do it by tellin' us a story. Argh, I likes a good story!"

While funny that is a bit of an odd way to introduce the motivation for story time. Also the exaggerated AAAAARRRGH doesn't really add anything. I'd suggest not making screams like that unless you want the characters to seem cartoonish. A shorter version would be less harsh on the eyes and incorporate a more hilarious sound, "Aaargh!" Looks better.

Fair enough.

Also, it might just be a pet peeve that I dislike seeing dots in-between the words; SHUT...UP has a little line of periods that represent pause. Except they don't. The dots usually represents someone trailing off a sentence. If you wanted to make it pause but still forceful it would be in my opinion better to do, SHUT. UP!

Still a hilarious sentence.

I guess

QuoteTELL US ONE OR DIE! TELL US ONE OR DIE!"

First off, Lol! Second, loud chants don't need to be all capitalized.

If you say so

QuoteHang on, Malumgula lost the battle at Salamandastron in AUTUMN, not winter!"
"Rrrrgh, silence! It doesn't matter what season that happened, okay?"

A funny little intervention by the unnamed vixen in the prologue is funny. Duh, problem is she asked for a story in the prologue as well. A good one if I remember correctly. So was she there during all this? Wouldn't she already know this tale? Are they both telling the story is it only the ferret? These are important questions! We need answers!

Ahem, anyway...

*sigh* Well, this was going to be addressed later. The vixen is indeed in the story, but not for long enough so that she already knows what's going on. Plus, the story is for other vermin as well.

Quote"Oh, 'tis luvverly t'be a vermin,
just a ferret in a big ole horde!
Oh, 'tis luvverly t'be a vermin,
Murderin' an' pillagin'; we're never bored!
Oh, 'tis luvverly t'be a vermin..."

Is it really? Like I swear this song sounds like those Nazi recruitment songs which were targeted at younger people convincing them that life fighting for Hitler was amazing. Anyone, even a messed up, bloodthirsty varmint knows that fighting, marching, and struggling to survive sucks. The song makes your vermin band sound like a cult trying to convince its followers that, "Hey guys, we're not bored at least!"

Very well done.

Well, there's a song that's nearly identical in one of the books, actually. So I wrote it from memory and changed the words around a bit.

QuoteI thought you knew, we need everybeast we have when we go back to deal with those Hellgates' damned hares and their stupid badger.

What? He plans on taking the LP on again. Like I know vermin warlords need to look confident after a defeat to keep their position, but seriously. If three score is measly, then they used to have a big army. And now this ol' Mugnun cat thinks he's got any sort of chance? So he is planning on some serious recruitment, or some serious training. Either way he's crazy.

I wouldn't be surprised if the remnants of his army says, "Yeah Heeeell no we ain't going back there." right before stabbing him. Or at least trying too.

But underneath this dark cloak of fear and notoriety was a shattered, vengeful husk of his former self. This sorta implies that he isn't exactly allright in the head.

Quote"I used to be a p-p-p-p-pirate. I grew up in the t-t-t-t-t-tropics. 'Tis cold out 'ere,

How did this guy survive though Autumn and Winter if he is shivering that much during the Spring?

See further below. And the odd thing about this is that he's shivering in Spring...

Quotewas much nicer aboard me ship..."

His, ship...? Did he own it, was he a captain, or is he simply referring to the ship he was a crewmember on as his. Maybe he was a captain at one point, and a head injury made him forget his past awesomeness and he simply has fleeting memories of his forgotten life. Wouldn't that be a cool story arch, *Hint hint*

If he survives long enough to remember...

QuoteI WILL stop talking if you don't. Let...me...continue!"

Funny threat is funny, except it is also foolish because he has a load of younger vermin surrounding him demanding that he tell a story or they will kill him. Personally I don't know how the vixen has lasted so long after her continuous interruptions. I wouldn't be overly surprised if she gets gagged so the ferret can continuous his tale in peace.

Hmm...Sounds like an interesting idea...

QuoteWhy are ye so cold, Grubslug?

How is it over a winter and autumn our ferret Turnob hasn't noticed Grubslug is cold? is this the first time he has ever been curious as to why Grubslug is shivering? Or is the rat sick. Who knows....

He's noticed before, he just think's its odd that he's shivering in Spring. And might I point out that the shivering isn't normal, because of the cold, he just thinks it is.

Quote"I have no room for weaklings in my horde. Let that happen again, and you'll be staying here forever, under the dirt. Are we clear? Well?"

Huh? Didn't he just tell off Sharpy for trying to kill him? Does he need everyone to fight the LP except the unfortunates he kills? I'm going to say that it was most likely an empty threat, but a villain that makes empty threats looses his evilness. Grodds why you do this!?

Changed this phrase a bit.

Chapter 2 - Malumgula

"Alrighty, I 'ad t'get this next bit from th'vixen, but I din feel like lettin' 'er open 'er trap, do ye?"
His remark was met with a cry of disgusted 'boos'. The ferret chuckled, continuing his story.

The camp of Malumgula the Conqueror was in a state of unrest since the incident on the riverbank. Were they really going back to the Fire Mountain? How could the wildcat even consider going back to that place? This was a place of plunder, where the horde could live the easy life forever. Quietly stewing in his own juices, the wildcat sat at his fire, cursing how easily his plans had slipped out. He glared through the flames at the vixen chewing noisily on a roasted wood-pigeon leg.
"Vinarya! Stop lounging around like an entitled frog and tell me what the signs say! The mountain, do you see it?"
Vinarya emptied her satchel onto the fallen log. She tossed a handful of powder into the flames, causing the fire to roar upwards into the night sky. She pointed the wildcat towards several scattered rocks.
"The fires burn high, see the rocks? This large stone is the mountain. The smaller rocks show the creatures that lie dead at your footpaws. But this red stone, see here. More rocks, but these ones stand tall, unblemished. Methinks they may be the blood of thine enemies, but the true omens are hidden to me."
Malumgula growled hoarsely.
"Does it say HOW I win the fight, or is it just you making things up to please me?"
Vinarya gulped, scratching the back of her neck.
"Errr...Seeing the unknown is a difficult task, I need to rest for a bit before I continue."
Malumgula raised an eyebrow at the vixen's obvious getaway attempt, but decided to humor her.
"Fine. I want new information before noon tomorrow, or you'll be fighting on the frontlines in future, instead of lurking around in the shadows. Would you like that, Vinarya?"
The vixen went pale. Why was Malumgula making threats? Wasn't he all about keeping all of his creatures alive to attack the mountain again? Why were they attacking the mountain again? A suicide mission was all that would be. Was the wildcat even right in the head anymore after his previous defeat?

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

In fact, Vinarya's suspicions were shared equally by the rest of the horde. At the fire of Turnob and Grubslug, the shivering searat conversed with his friend in hushed tones.
"D'ya hear what 'ee said t'ya? Doesn't 'ee need erreybeast t'survive t'take on the mountain again? Why would 'ee kill yer?"
Turnob shrugged, dropping his voice to a harsh whisper.
"He was hurt pretty bad in the fight. What if it broke 'im inside as well? What if all 'ee thinks about now is gettin' revenge, doesn't care 'bout all of us?"
The searat nodded.
"Y'know what they say. Malumgula is a wildcat' beast possessed. I'll bet apples t'acorns that 'ee won't stop 'til 'ee kills errey last one o' those hares. If'n 'ee succeeds, we'll be living like kings. If not, well...We all know what'll happen."

An entitled frog...who'd have thought...

Added some exposition to CHAPTER 2.

Continnuuuueee....

I like the vixen xD And the rising action.

It's coming out great!

EDIT: also, I just realized - We Happy Few is an upcoming computer game (a first-person survival, to be more specific)! Seeing the box art the other day made me think of this story. I'm going to guess that there's no relationship/inspiration between the two?

Nope. The idea for the title came from the St Crispin's Day Speech.

Chapter 3 - The Plan

Night had come and gone, with Malumgula forsaking sleep. Watching. Waiting. The sun began to rise amidst the soft snores of the vermin band, almost all of whom were still dozing. Grubslug shivered himself awake, coughing slightly and trying to pull the tattered rag of a blanket further over himself. When sleep failed him again, the rat reached over and tapped Turnob.
"'Ey, Turnob. Wake up, we need t'get vittles."
The ferret groaned and rolled over into the scattered coals of the fire. Yelping, he jumped upright, still brushing the ash from his fur.
"Vittles? Sounds good t'me, mate."
The two creatures stole away towards the river as Malumgula stumbled out of his tent. Still muttering about his plans, the wildcat began to kick the hordebeasts awake.
"Get up, you lazy mud-crawlers. We've got a big day ahead of us! And you, Vinarya. You'd best start visioning...ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP! You got 'til the sun is halfway to the middle of the sky. Get food, then pack up your belongings and gear up for marching."

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

At Malumgula's deadline, the group, all threescore, had formed up in the clearing, weapons bristling. Turnob spat a fish bone and looked expectantly at Malumgula. The wildcat cleared his throat and addressed his ragtag band.
"Listen up. Some of you have been whispering in the dark about my plans. You wonder: "How can we POSSIBLY go back and attack the fire mountain? I'll tell you how! We get a fort of our own. An impenetrable castle, as secure as Salamandastron itself! I'm speaking, of course, about Redwall Abbey. Many hordes have tried to take the place. Some have succeeded, briefly, but others have failed. Why? They were INFERIOR! With me at our front, we'll take that place before they even know our band is within a mile. I've seen it myself; they completely disregard the gates in the side walls. We're going to sneak in. We're going to slaughter them all. Then, we base our raids on the mountain out of Redwall. If they chase us, we retreat to our fort. We'll never have to worry about food again, either! We don't even have to take over the mountain. We can live like kings until we have the power of a king. Then, we massacre ever single hare, that damned badger, and leave the mountain as a timeless monument to our victory! Forward march, to Redwall Abbey!"

~~~~~~~~~

The marching was tough work, and by noon the vermin had made a quick campsite. A huge bonfire raged at the banks of the River Moss, where several creatures were filling buckets of water. Sharplips the weasel sat to one side with his cronies, another weasel and a lanky fox. The fox was quite fond of grumbling about Malumgula; particularly about how easily it would have been for him to take over the horde, were Malumgula not a wildcat. Today was no exception.
"Who does 'ee think 'ee is? Better warriors than 'is craziness, that's fer sure."
Sharplips kicked the fox roughly.
"Don't be surprised. 'Ee ain't exactly the sanest beast, but 'ee's still a wildcat, an' they're the best warriors I've ever seen. short o' those badgers that seem t'come straight outta Hellgates, o' course."
The fox shrugged.
"Mmm, maybe 'ee just needs a sharp prod t'wake 'im up from 'is madness. I volunteer..."
Sharplips spat into the river.
"Save yer sword fer th'fish, will yer? All in good time, mate. All in good time..."

Your style differs greatly from mine (Namely: you're a lot more succinct :P), but the writing is still rather nice. Malumgula's idea (and implementation of it) is rather interesting. Perhaps I haven't read enough Redwall books, but I haven't heard of such a thing as taking the Abbey first, then using it to defeat Salamandastron. So, well done on that. I like the plot progression and the concept of the fanfic itself, and I encourage you to keep writing.

Chapter 4 - Fire

It was nearly noon when Malumgula's army had reformed near the river. The vermin looked as professional as they would ever be, armor fitted and spears raised. Malumgula stood out front with Vinarya, crowded around a huge bonfire. The vixen launched into a strange, otherwordly chant, throwing numerous powders into the fire. Finally, she turned to two large stoats that stood off to the side, a squirming watervole held between them.
"Bring the local, his flesh will give the visions!"
The two stoats dragged the watervole towards the flames, ignoring his pleas. Malumgula slipped a thick noose around the vole's neck, and tied the other end to a large log that was still untouched by the flames. The stoats drew their blades as the wildcat kicked the log into the bonfire. The poor creature squirmed and struggled unable to escape the heat. Soon, as the vole stopped moving, Vinarya stepped into the fire. With not a patch of soot on her, she pulled the vole from the fire and stared deep into his eyes.
"This one has seen Vulpuz. He has been to the Gates of Hell, and learnt the final truths of unlife. The reflections and visions tell me as thus. I see a great, red abbey. Its bells toll in panic, then in victory. I see a massive fire in the grounds, as you burn the corpses of your enemies. You have taken Redwall. Then, my visions cloud. I see the mountain, and once more, I see fire. But this time, the bodies are of vermin. I see horde meet horde in a flurry of blood. I see a badger, and countless hares, pour from the peak of the stone fortress. I see you lying aside the badger, blood pouring from both your wounds. And I see another. He is vermin, but the species I cannot see. He stands alone on the beach, surrounded by corpses. Then, all I see is Vulpuz laughing at us, and my visions fade."
Malumgula drew his sword, the blade flicking at Vinarya's neck.
"What trickery is this? You mean to say that after I win Redwall, I die? The badger wins?"
Vinarya gulped.
"No lord. All I see is death. The only living creature is the vermin on the sands."
"Then find him! Keep looking into your visions. Find out his species, and find out who he is!"
"It will be done, lord of fire and death. I am yours to command."
Malumgula sheathed his sword and turned to his army.
"You may be soldiers today. But tomorrow, you shall all be conquerors. You shall live like kings in the Abbey of Redwall. We will keep some of the woodlanders as slaves, and burn the rest! You will all be captains in my army, for when the local beasts see our power, they will flock to join us. Then, we will crush the Fire Mountain. All who oppose us will burn! I am Malumgula, I am the conqueror. Together, we will watch the world fall apart under our heels!"
The horde gave a hearty cheer. Turnob glanced aside at Grubslug, who was coughing horribly. The wildcat lifted his paw, and a small rat began to strike a little marching drum.
"Horde! Forward march to the Abbey of Redwall!"
Turnob handed his spear to Grubslug, allowing the rat to lean on it as he hobbled along. After exchanging weapons, the ferret gazed in awe at his friend's blade. A cutlass, with a dirty golden handle and an engraved blade. It had been deliberately rusted and coated in filth, probably to prevent it from being stolen. What was Grubslug hiding? Who was he? Turnob pondered these questions as much as his small brain could handle, while the sun beat down on the marchers.

*gasp*
Nooooooot Redwall!

Aha, good job here, mate.

Chapter 5 - Redwall

At high noon, a tall, lanky stoat scurried down from a treetop. He saluted with his blade as Malumgula shot him an inquisitive glance.
"Well? Get on with it."
"Sire, I saw th' Red place from th' top o' th' trees."
"Good. Scout ahead, find a clearing where our forces can camp until Redwall is ours."
The stoat saluted once more, shooting off into the underbrush. Malumgula strode back to the front of the army.
"Listen up, all of you. There is no room for error here. We will rest in the nearest clearing, gather strength. Then, I shall take my best warriors to the Abbey. You will be in the fringes of the trees. When you see the flames above the wall, charge. The gates shall open, and you will slaughter everybeast you see. Sharplips, Frond. Both of you, to me."
The weasel and fox both advanced to the front.
"You two are my finest warriors. But I don't trust you. Sharplips, you will join me. Frond, you will lead the charge."
The two creatures nodded.
"Sharplips, bring me the rat known as Grubslug, then meet me at the treeline. Vinarya, take the horde to the clearing."

~~~~~~~~~~~

High noon had long since departed by the time Malumgula had finished the conversation with his two troops. Grubslug had once attempted a similar action at the Fire Mountain, but the sharp hares had attacked on sight. Maybe this time would be different. The wildcat made the rat and weasel throw away their weapons, himself only keeping a rusty dagger thrust through his belt. The three vermin slipped into rough cloaks and emerged from the trees. The beauty of the fresh sunset was lost upon the hard eyes of the wildcat and his fellow assassins. They plodded roughly up to the main gate of the Abbey, and Malumgula kicked it roughly. Shortly thereafter, the small head of a mouse popped over the battlements.
"What do ye want, vermin?"
Malumgula bowed slightly, hiding his grin.
"Forgive me, sire. We are three outcasts, fleeing from the great horde of Malumgula the Conqueror."
"Malumgula? Wasn't he defeated by the Long Patrol last Winter?"
"Autumn, actually. But he's gotten bitter. He reformed his army, and he plans on going back for more. I am his brother, and I knew when to leave. I took my two most trusted followers and fled. All I ask is that you may break bread with us, for we have not eaten in several sunsets."
"Are you armed?"
"We were not able to flee with much, sire. The only weapon between us is this dagger I carry."
"Drop it in the dirt. Then we will let you in, but we will be watching you."
Malumgula drew the small blade and tossed it over his shoulder. Almost immediately, the large gate swung open. Two otters, brandishing javelins, glared at the three vermin. The mouse from the wall had also descended, where he welcomed them.
"Welcome to Redwall, friends. We are always glad to have friendly visitors. Come, follow me. I will take you to the kitchens."
Malumgula smiled and nodded.
"Thank you, sir."
The mouse chuckled.
"You really don't have to call me sir. I am just the Abbot."
"The Abbot? You are the one in charge, correct?"
"I am not in charge, not really. I am the Abbot, and I try to help the Abbeydwellers go through their lives. However, they are free creatures, and I have no control over them."
Further conversation was not required. As the group of creatures passed by a set of wallstairs, the three vermin stopped. Grubslug and Sharplips both whirled around, swiftly disarming the otters. Malumgula, while weaponless, still had his teeth and claws. He dug his powerful paw deep into the Abbot's shoulder, the mouse's shriek of pain deterring the otters.
"Don't try anything, riverdogs. You move a step, and your Abbot dies."
Grubslug and Sharplips flanked the wildcat as he backed up the stairs onto the battlements. The wildcat shoved the Abbot to the ground and pulled a piece of flint and a torch from under his cloak. The wildcat struck the flint against the rampart stone, lighting the torch. He waved it several times in the air, calling back over his shoulder.
"Grubslug, stay here and guard the mouse. Sharplips, open the gate."
The weasel cackled and dashed down the wallstairs.

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

Sharplips had reached the gate, javelin in hand. One otter tried to charge him, but met a swift end at the tip of the javelin. The weasel set it aside and wrenched off the gate bar. He took up his weapon again and kicked the gates roughly, opening them slightly. Just enough. The charge of vermin, led by Frond, poured through the gate. Any and all Redwallers in the grounds were slaughtered brutally, the vermin suffering only minimal losses from the occasional otter guard. Before they could go any further; however, the last of the Abbey dwellers rushed into the building and slammed the door. It was a siege! Malumgula stood on the walltop, in full view of the Abbey windows. The bodies of the slain had been heaped onto a bonfire, along with the Abbot.
"Listen to me, you bumpkins! I have your Abbot! Open the door, and only some of you will die! Refuse to comply, and you will all burn with him!"
No reply came but a hail of stone, that miserably fell short.
"So be it, then."
The wildcat took a torch from Vinarya and threw it into the bonfire. It began to crackle slightly as Malumgula began his interrogation.
"Now then, Abbot mouse. You tell me what I want, and I cut you free."
"Never. I would rather die than betray Redwall."
"All beasts repent in the fire, old one. You shall, too."
It did not take long before the Abbot began to shake in pain.
"Again. How many creatures are there in the Abbey?"
"I...won't...tell you."
Malumgula drew his blade and slid it roughly through the mouse's shoulder.
"Again! How many creatures?"
"Gaaaah! I...I...Threescore. Threescore, not counting dibbuns."
"And how many of them are warriors?"
"Ten. We have ten otters."
"Good. How do we get inside?"
The Abbot shook his head. The flames were starting to roar around him. Malumgula withdrew from the fire, shouting.
"HOW DO WE GET IN?"
The mouse struggled as the fire began to engulf him.
"There's no way in. Just the doors. You'll never win. Yo-"
He was cut short as the flames licked at his fur. As the mouse started to burn, all that came from his mouth was screams. Malumgula watched with grim satisfaction. The door. He would breach it with what he knew best. FIRE!

Chapter 6 - The Battle of the Abbey

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Burn the enemy, make their blades rust!"
Vinarya the vixen stood at the tightly-locked doors of Redwall Abbey, holding her torch high. Behind her, ten vermin had arrows on their bowstring, training the windows for any would-be attackers. The vermin force had not even bothered to make camp yet, for they knew if the wildcat's plan succeeded, the Abbey would be theirs. Malumgula stood next to his vixen, also holding a flaming piece of wood. He motioned to two of his creatures, who lugged a heavy pot towards the door. In the ranks, Turnob prodded Grubslug.
"Ey, Grubby. Whaddaya reckon's in th' pot?"
The rat shrugged.
"We'll find out soon enough, I s'pose. I reckons that it be's somethin' t'help burn th' door, though."
Grubslug was correct. Once the two vermin had reached the door, they tipped its contents onto the stout timbers of the door. The Abbey's entrance was now completely lathered in fat-filled, greasy tallow. Malumgula chuckled as Vinarya began chanting again.
"Lord of flames, behold our pleas. Burn the enemy, make us appeased!"
More vermin approached the door, carrying mounds of timber. They piled it at the base of the door and smeared the last of the tallow over it. Malumgula nodded to Vinarya, and she threw her torch into the pile. The fire raged into existence almost immediately, engulfing the door. Its timbers crackled and spit, weakened with age. Turnob drew Grubslug's cutlass; the fight was about to begin. The wooden door into the Abbey had begun to turn black. Several missiles rained on the vermin from above. Rocks, kitchen pans, anything the desperate Redwallers got their paws on. As the flames that surrounded the door began burning low, Vinarya stepped into them, giving the door a rough kick. It gave one last crackle and groan, before swinging straight off its hinges and slamming to the ground. She wrenched the second, barely intact half of the door open and scattered the fire. Malumgula drew his sword and led the vermin charge into the Abbey. The otters the Abbot had mentioned were waiting, with javelins and slings. One of them whirled a stone that bounced off Turnob's leg. The ferret winced, holding onto a large table for support. The rest of the vermin charged past him, leaving the ferret open to attacks. Fortunately, the otters were more preoccupied with the invaders to worry about him. As Turnob felt like he could walk again, a mole charged him with a broom handle. The fool. Turnob slashed with the cutlass, taking the mole's paw, and the broom handle with it. The poor Redwaller crashed to the ground, screaming. The ferret caught up with the rest of the vermin, who were starting to spread out. Half of the force stayed in great hall to finish the otters, while the rest split themselves between cavern hole, the kitchens, and the second floor. While enroute to the kitchens, Turnob gazed at the otters. Only four remained. One survivor took a spear to the shoulder and fell, where he was instantly silenced by half a dozen sword blades. Another, while whirling her sling, had a vermin paw shoot out and snatch the leather of the weapon. It was wrapped around her neck, before she vanished into the crowd. The last two stood back to back, shouting over the din.
"This is it, Skip. We're done for."
"I am, young 'un. But you aren't. Fin' the dibbuns, get 'em outta here. Don't let our Abbeybabes be slaughtered."
The bigger of the two, obviously the Skipper, shoved his companion away and brandished his javelin. He lept into the fray, making a path for the other otter to escape the vermin.
"Reeeeeeeedwaaaaaaa-urk."
Malumgula withdrew his blade from where it had come to rest in the Skipper's throat. He wiped it on the otter's corpse and pointed at the escapist, running up the stairs.
"KILL THE OTTER! DON'T LET HIM ESCAPE!"
The force from great hall thundered up the stairs after him. Turnob shivered, following part of the vermin band into the kitchens. A young squirrel had been cornered, a knife in his shaky grip. Sharplips the weasel advanced on him menacingly, holding a large club. The squirrel slashed out in fear. Sharplips took a cut to his side, but it was too late. The weasel was close enough to use his club. He swung it heftily at the squirrel's paw, shattering it and sending the knife spinning through the air. He held the squirrel's throat with one paw, holding him against the wall, and hammered at his face with the club. When the squirrel stopped struggling, Sharplips dropped the bloodied corpse. Turnob, thankfully, was not as gruesome. He had managed to capture the Friar, a very large hedgehog. He had curled into a ball, rocking back and forth, as Turnob kept the cutlass pointed at him. Sharplips made to smash the cook with his club, but Turnob stopped him.
"'Ang on, Sharpy. 'Ee's the cook. Chief'll want 'im ta cook fer us, too."
"Hmph, fine. But no more 'ostages."
Sharplips led the rest of the vermin into the cellar.

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

Grubslug had followed Malumgula to the second floor, in pursuit of the surviving otter. While Malumgula and a few others chased after him, the rest of the band swept the rooms. Grubslug and a stoat entered the Infirmary, greeted by a shrieking mouse and several wounded beasts. The Infirmary Sister noticed a window pole nearby and snatched it, backing away.
"Please...Leave me alone."
The stoat chuckled and advanced on her, holding a rusty sickle. The Sister thrashed out with the pole.
"I told you to stay away!"
The metal hook on the end of the window pole thudded into the stoat's eye. He stepped backwards, clawing at his face, but the pole would not budge. In his thrashing, the vermin ran the pole straight into a wall. It sunk deeper through his skull, protruding out both ends of the stoat's head. Grubslug and the sister both stared at each other in shock. She glanced at the stoat, then back at Grubslug. The sister leapt towards the corpse, her paw landing on the pole. She never got to wield it again. Grubslug's spear flashed forwards, straight into the mouse's neck. She gurgled briefly and crashed to the floor. Grubslug pulled the spear from her body, talking to himself.
"Wot a pity. Such a place o' peace, turnin' inta such a slaughter'ouse."

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

Poor Redwall, huh? Is this poor enough for you, Prezzers?

I really like the concept behind this; I find it very interesting and original. Firstly, a fanfic told in a vermin (and not a good one's) POV. And the vermin leader's idea is seriously one that I've never heard of, and sounds both viable and engaging. I like how the plot is going (for example, the fox seer's vision is one of my favorite elements). And call me cruel, but it's nice to see the good guys lose sometimes ;)

Great stuff, Groddil :)

Chapter 7 - A Vermin Victory

"And what, is the problem with woodlanders?"
The battle had been a huge success on vermin's part. The Redwall survivors, not counting several Dibbuns that had been barricaded in the attic, numbered three all up. The fat hedgehog Friar, a stout mole, and the otter who had run. The vermin formed a circle around their prisoners, weapons drawn, as Malumgula stood out front twirling a dagger.
"I said, what is the problem with woodlanders?"
Turnob raised his paw, wondering what was to come.
"Er, they's too trustin', Chief."
"Precisely, Turnob! Too trusting. O' course, even with their trust, they could have easily avoided this if they knew how to fight. Two otters, they had to guard us. Two otters, with a couple o' javelins. Y'see, there's a glaring problem with javelins..."
The wildcat gave a nod, a signal to the vermin. They all drew their blades, forming a circle around the otter and the wildcat. Grubslug sliced through the otter's bonds, while Sharplips tossed a javelin to the floor in front of him. Immediately, the otter seized the weapon and rushed Malumgula. The wildcat easily sidestepped the charge, gripping the javelin in one paw and stopping the otter in his tracks. The unfortunate riverdog stared down at his thigh, where the wildcat's dagger had sunk deep into his flesh.
"They only have two, tiny sharp bits. All the rest can't hurt ye!"
"You...Monst-"
Malumgula kicked the otter's corpse aside and pointed to the two survivors.
"You two! You will be our servants. The hedgepig will make our food, and the mole will gather whatever the hedgepig needs to cook it. Sharplips!"
"Y-yes, boss?"
"Take one otherbeast with you, and watch the attic door where those babes are hiding. They'll starve to death unless they get out. Don't let them out. A relief watch will arrive at dawn."
The weasel immediately sought out Frond, and the two gave a chuckle.
"Not Frond. You two stay away from each other. Turnob, go with Sharplips."
Both the weasel and the ferret looked crestfallen, but knew better than to disobey their leader. Sharplips plodded up the nearby stairs, Turnob on his heels."
"Frond, you and half a score of soldiers are to mount a wallguard. There may be woodlanders who were not here during the attack. If you see anybeast that isn't one of us, kill them."
Frond saluted with his spearpoint, secretly seething inside to have to sit on the wall all night.
"Grubslug, take the prisoners to the kitchen. The rest of you, there is a dormitory on the second floor, with real beds. Rest, and remember who it was that gave you such luxury."
The vermin all let out a cheer that shook the very Abbey.
"MALUMGULAAAAAAAAA!!!"

~~~~~~~~~~~

Grubslug slammed the door to the kitchen, sliding a heavy chain through the door handle, before locking it with an evil grin.
"Heh heh. Let's see ya try'n get out o' dere!"
The Friar sat forlornly on a pile of sacks.
"This is it, Duggor. We're stuck as prisoners in our own home, and everybeast we knew is gone. We're doomed, my old friend. Doomed."
Duggor shook a heavy digging claw.
"Burr, we'm ain't deaded yet, no zurr! Oi'll never give up whoile them vermints are dirtin' up moi 'ome."
"I suppose you're right, Duggor. Sitin' around 'ere mopin' won't help anybeast. We need a plan, one that'll free us from these filthy vermin. Duggor, find me some charcoal. We need to think of ideas..."

Ooh, I like the idea of the two prisoners! You can do a lot with that.

@Prezzers: Read chapter 6 already!

Quote from: Groddil on July 18, 2016, 01:04:35 AM
@Prezzers: Read chapter 6 already!

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

Chapter 8 - Foraging

...

I did and forgot to comment.  ;)

Chapter 8 - Foraging

The next day, Malumgula's forces were relishing in their new palace. Vermin dozed on the sun-lit lawns, or scarfed down food like there was no tomorrow. Frond and Sharplips (having finally been relieved from guarding the attic); however, were among the unlucky group dealing with the dead. Vermin and woodlander alike, all corpses were trundled to the North-East corner of the wall. The weasel and fox tossed the slain over the wall into the woods, muttering darkly about their predicament.
"So, let's git this straight. Ye leaded da charge on da h'Abbey, an' den ya got on da Corpse Duty? Pah, ye shudd 'ave been rewarded or somet'ing!"
Frond shrugged, kicking a squirrel's body off the battlements and watching as it slammed into the woodland floor with a sickening thud.
"Who knows, mate. Da wildcat 'as somet'in' ag'inst me, an' I dunno why!"
Sharplips giggled.
"Oh, I does! It's cause ya wants ta see 'im deaded, an' 'ee probly knows dat."
Frond shrugged, agreeing with the weasel.
"Aye, yer probly right, mate. Mebbe I shudd get 'im afore 'ee gets me."
Nearby, the other creature on the disgusting job, a rat, edged his way over.
"I wuddn't let anybeast 'ere ye say dat agin, Frond. Malumgula 'as eyes everywhere. Dere's too many spies wot wudd tell 'im yer true feelins."
Frond drew his dagger and licked it.
"Oh, let 'em tell. 'Specially yew, whats-yer-face. I've seen ye afore, sneakin' around da cat. Yer one o' da spies, ain't ya?"
The rat backed away, groping for his blade.
"Nah mate, I isn't like dat. Yer'll see..."
Frond leapt forward, plunging his dagger into the rat's throat. He gurgled briefly before the fox resheathed his weapon.
"Ah no, not ole whats-'is-face! Cruelly slain in da battle, who wudda fort? O' all da bodies in dis pile, I fink ole whats-'is-face is dee only one I'll shed a tear fer. I knew 'im, I did!"
Dropping the act, Frond kicked the rat's body over the wall in disgust. Together, the two vermin heaved the last body over the battlements; an old badgermother who was hardly able to fight back.
"Whoo, dat took us a while. I fink we shudd go get some vittles."
Sharplips nodded.
"Aye, mate. Dat sounds like a gudd idea!"

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

Sharplips and Frond were not the only vermin who had to work. Grubslug and Turnob had been ordered to accompany the captured mole, Duggor, into the woods. Admittedly, it was not difficult work. Sitting on a fallen log, they watched as the mole tore up roots with his powerful digging claws, and sniffed out the numerous berries amongst the bushes. Grubslug shook his head at the sorry sight.
"Yuck, too many o' dem natural fings. Berries an' plants an' filth. Gimme a gudd fish any day!"
Duggor turned to face them.
"Burr, thurr be's plenty o' fishes in 'ee h'Abbey pond, zurr."
Grubslug seized a thin branch and leapt up. He swatted the mole several times with the stick, until the screams turned to whimpers. Satisfied, Grubslug threw himself back onto the log.
"Did I say ya cudd speak, filth digger? No? Well don't say anyfing! If I hears one more word outta yew, I'll cut yer snout off!"
As Duggor went back to his duties, Turnob reached for the weapon they had brought along; a bow and several arrows.
"Fishes is gudd an' all, but dere's too many thin bones an' skins. Wiff a gudd bird, all ya has ta do is burn im, an' da feathers falls off. Plus, da bird bones is bigger'n' da fish bones, an' dey doesn't get stuck in yer teeth!"
Turnob notched an arrow to the bowstring and fired it at a wood pigeon that had just landed on a nearby tree branch. The poor bird did not even notice the arrow sticking in its side, until it fell to the ground near the mole's footpaw.
"Yew, diggin' mouse-thing. Bring me dat bird!"
Shakily, Duggor picked up the woodpigeon and bore it over to Turnob.
"Do ya fink da spikepig cudd make one o' dem "pastie" fings, but wif one o' dose luverly birdies in it?"
The mole, not daring to speak, nodded once. Turnob flung his weapons aside and grinned.
"Dat's gudd. Now, yer gonna stop findin' dem roots, an' yer gonna sit o'er dere. Tell me if ya sees any birdies land on any o' dese branches!"

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

After a short while, the foraging party emerged from the woodlands, carrying several dead birds each. Turnob led them towards the gate triumphantly, the bow slung over his shoulder. Grubslug chuckled, shoving the mole ahead.
"Y'know, Turnob, I never figured ya fer a bowbeast."
The ferret shrugged.
"An' I never figured ye'd recover from yer sickness."
"Well, mebbe it wuzz da thrill o' da victory wot made me feel gudd again. I'll tell yer, stickin' me spear t'rough dat mousemaid made me feel very gudd indeed!"
"An' mebbe all da chaos o' sword fightin' made me wanna jus' kill me enemies from afar. Less risk that way."
"Call it smart, call it cowardly. Yer good wiff dat fing, much better'n wiff me cutlass. Say, do ye still 'ave it?"
Turnob shrugged.
"Yeah, it's under me bed in da dormitory. I'll trade it fer yer dagger, jus' in case I needs ta get in close again."
Grubslug unsheathed his dagger and tossed it to Turnob.
"Done. I'll go get me blade back once we 'ead inside."
As they were about to go through the gate, Duggor shivered. Strung up above it were two corpses; the charred body of the Abbot, and the mangled head of the Skipper of Otters. In his head, he vowed to avenge Redwall in any way he could...

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 :P

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.

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

QuoteThen, 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 :P)

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

I've fallen behind. :"D

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.

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."