Mossflower Falls

[Captain Tammo]

I really like this chapter! You have a writing style that's easy to follow. What I especially like is that it is not too simple nor bombastic (as many Fanfictions normally drift to one of those two), and you are dedicated to keep working at it until it's finished! Makes for some fun reading

Also @Danflorreguba, since you offered, I was wondering if you'd give my fanfic, The Origins of Simon, a review? I'd love to hear what you have to say!

[The Skarzs]

Thank you once again for your feedback, Tammo!

Say, do fan fictions eventually get removed and marked as 'finished'?

[Captain Tammo]

No, they are updated on the directory and are transferred from the "in progress" section to the "completed works" section!

[Feles]

When I read the first and second chapters I could think of no other protagonist THE BEAR to bad you already have one 

[The Skarzs]

My only problem with that is that this is a spinoff/run-in with my unfinished book, and in that book bears are, well, dumb animals. Not only that: a bear would be able to break down one of Redwall's freaking walls.

Overpowered.

Oh, and welcome to the forum!

[The Mask]

Oi just arrived here, This is basically the first thing I've read. Absolutely brilliant. I applaud you sah! Now I'm off to confuse some dibbuns

[The Skarzs]

Thank you, and welcome to the forums! Don't get too carried away with those dibbuns.

[The Skarzs]

Chapter Eight
   "Grufo? Tithle?" Abbot Nart called, walking down the long, twisting halls of Brockhall. The mouse nearly walked right into Cellarhog Derffy, who put a friendly paw on his friend's shoulder.
   "Father Abbot, what's the matter? Ye look worried 'bout sumthin'."
   "It's two of the Dibbuns, Grufo and Tithle; I haven't seen hide nor tail of them for hours, and they missed breakfast," Nart explained. "Oh, I've been searching all over, but I haven't found them!"
   Derffy shook his head. "Sorry, Father, but I ain't seen 'em either."
   "Oh, I only hope they haven't gone outside; I've given specific orders to not allow anybeast out unless I say so."
   "You know little 'uns, Nart. Never do nuthin if'n they don't want to. Tell you what: I'll get those two squirrels, Spruceclimber and Limbjumper, to see if they can search around in the woods," the cellarhog said cheerily.
   Nart was not so hopeful. "I'm afraid those two old veterans have gone off somewhere; why or when I don't know, but they're gone nonetheless. We'll just have to look around in here, and hope for the best. I'll arrange a search party for those two straight away."

The two Dibbuns, Grufo and Tithle, were no longer in Brockhall.
   They were almost no longer in Mossflower woods.
   The duo had left the safety of Brockhall on a heroic mission to join Spruceclimber and Limbjumper and take back their beloved abbey. Unfortunately, they had not found either of the veteran squirrels, but had instead discovered the massive and unhidden trail left by Grungath's forces, leading straight for the dunes and shore. Tithle had immediately taken command with a stick he pretended was the great sword of Martin the Warrior, and convinced his colleague to press onward with him. But after hours of walking, Grufo had begun to cause trouble for the fearless leader.
   "Hurr, Tithle, when're we gonna stop t' eat? Oi'm gurtly hungered!" The little mole continued complaining behind his friend. "An' Oi jus' got me a stubbded paw!"
   "Jus' shuttup an' keep walkin', Grufo!" Tithle rubbed his chin thoughtfully; he was not sure how long they would be walking. "We'll eat when we finds sumthin' to eat."
   "Loik an apple?"
   The squirrel turned to see the other sitting down and munching contentedly on a ripe apple. "Where'd ya find that?" he asked while eagerly poking at the mole, for he was as hungry as his friend.
   "Oop there!" Grufo pointed to the laden boughs of a fruit tree. "Hu, huh, it landed on moi head, et did. Hu huh!"
   Tithle sprang up the trunk of the tree, hanging from a limb and shaking down more of the apples. He dropped down. "Tol' ya we'd eat when we founded food!" Both Dibbuns sat, happily eating their feast. Presently, Tithle's sharp ears picked up a new sound. "'Ey, Grufo, d'ya hear dat?"
   The mole listened, trying to hear whatever his friend had. After a few moments, he gave up. "Bo hurr, there bain't nuthin' a-makin' sound. Yore jus' an ole fussbucket."
   Tithle was shocked. "I not a fussbucket! You a fussbucket!"
   "Well, that just make you a gurter fussbucketer than oi!"
   "Shh! I hear it again! This way!" The squirrel ran off, leaving Grufo to heave his little body off the ground, not forgetting to pick up an apple for later. He trundled off after his friend.
   "Wait for oi!"
   He caught up to Tithle, bumping into him and falling back on the ground. "Hurr, watch where you be a-standin', zurr squirrel." But Tithle did not move, nor did he acknowledge his friend as he stared in silent awe. " Wot you be lookin' at?" The squirrel pointed with the forgotten stick. Through breaks in the trees, Grufo spied a sight that made his jaw drop. His ears finally picked up the sound the squirrel had heard, the source being before him.
   They gave witness to the battle on the dunes, in all it's awe, size, and horror.

Hurra's jaw dropped when he saw the huge cat in leather armor. As surprised as he was to have been denied killing Coalpaw, he could hardly believe what he actually had shot. Shaking his head suddenly, he broke out of his initial shock as Ronhuk roared out his challenge. The wolverine drew his falcate and pointed at the smaller force, yelling at his own army to charge.
   Not wanting to die in the front ranks, he hung back as the vermin army met with the hares of Salamandastron. He cautiously watched the tide going back and forth. The hares were constantly pushing forward with their long spears, and the vermin were fighting back with equal ferocity. That was, until he noticed a strange formation cut into Hurra's lines. They weren't hares, from what he could tell, but an unlikely assortment of woodland animals. Each carried a U-shaped shield, the front line wielding short swords, and those behind with progressively longer spears. They pierced the army of the Deathcaller like an arrow.
   Now Hurra was a little anxious; the wolverine could see the worry on his soldiers' faces. Roaring and cursing at them, he drove them onwards. He ordered the catapults and crossbows to be fired at will. He nodded in satisfaction at their results, killing many of the hares who tried desperately to dodge out of the way. This slight victory gave strength to the vermin, and they surged forward with renewed vigor.
   Releasing another bolt, Hurra was suddenly aware of the giant cat wading toward him, swinging a fearsome broadsword low at those who opposed him. Frightened, he tried to get another bolt loaded, fumbling with the large wooden shaft. There, he thought. Now to aim it. . .
   Hurra never got the chance. Ronhuk had jumped high over the heads of the other vermin, raising his sword over his head for a huge downward swipe. Swinging down, he cut through both the tough yew wood and the rope, rendering the entire crossbow useless. Hurra backed up, holding his falcate pointed at the cougar, then broke and ran for the forest. Not willing to let one of his potentially most dangerous enemies get away and cause greater damage, Ronhuk gave chase.

"Eulaliaaaaa!"
Lord Coalpaw was in the full Bloodwrath. Roaring and fighting unceasingly, he wreaked havoc on the enemy vermin. Weapons snapped before his rage, skulls and ribs were crushed as armor was bent and torn.
Suddenly, he tripped on a fallen body, and fell heavily to the ground. The badger lord's arms were pinned down, and he was jumped upon by merciless paws. Gasping for breath, he struggled to move.
"Eulalia! Forward the buffs; Lord Coalpaw needs some assistance, wot?" Commander Gemal's voice was heard above the din, and Coalpaw saw a surge in the enemy lines. The creatures from the Barkhills in their formation, led by the hare officer, fought to get to the badger. The vermin fell back from the onslaught, leaving Gemal to help Coalpaw up. "Can't have you get cut down, now can we, wot?" He dispatched a stoat with a quick thrust from his rapier. "Well, let's show these blaggarts what we can do!"

Splink had been fighting along the sidelines, not out of fear or cowardice, but because he did not want to risk confusion. Swiftly killing other vermin, whose surprise of one of their own taking them out was a common expression, was what he had been trying to do.
   He noticed a wolverine run off into the woods, and he tried to follow him. The ferret was grabbed from behind. Turning, he saw a rat scowling at him. "Where d'you think yer goin'? You aren't desertin', are ya? Cos if'n y'are, then I'll have to report you to Captain Hurra, an' he won't like that."
   "Hurra?"
   "Yeah, Hurra," the rat jeered. "Y'know, the big wolverine who's in charge o' this whole attack?" He looked strangely at Splink. "That's a funny accent you got; where're you from?"
   "I'm from the Barkhills," Splink said, swiftly stabbing his dagger into the rat's heart. "And I think your captain needs to have an eye kept on him."
   Some of the other horde members had witnessed the rat's death, and stared at the ferret. A weasel pointed an accusing paw at him. "Oi! 'E just killed Rottooth! Kill 'im!"
   Not good. Splink ran, with about seven vermin crying out for his blood behind him.

Ronhuk charged through the vermin ranks, breaking out and into the woods with the din of battle raging behind him. He peered into the forest, picking out a slight movement. Moving cautiously forward, he followed Hurra deeper.
   All at once, he heard a scream, and, rushing toward the source of the sound, found the two Dibbuns Grufo and Tithle in the possession of the wolverine.
   "Stay back, cat," the horde captain called. "Or I'll kill these two!"
   "You would kill something as innocent as a little, defenseless child?" Ronhuk said seriously.
   "I would!" He pressed his blade at the squirrel's throat. "So get back!"
   Ronhuk stepped backwards, thinking quickly. Getting an idea, he held his sword by the hilt and threw it at the desperate wolverine. Hurra ducked out of the way, clumsily dropping the Dibbuns in his haste. Taking advantage of the moment, Ronhuk launched himself at the wolverine.
   Hurra had suspected this move; he rolled out of the way with more grace than could be thought possible for a wolverine. Slashing at his opponent, Hurra's falcate cut a deep gash in Ronhuk's armor. The cougar grunted from the pain, stumbling back up and standing in a ready position. The two beasts glared at each other, until Hurra came in with a quick strike. Ronhuk dodged to the side, hitting out at the wolverine's shoulder.
   The horde captain fell to the ground, but got up quickly. Ronhuk went in for another blow, but Hurra struck lower, sticking his blade in the cat's side; he couldn't tug it out. Ronhuk wrenched the wolverine's paw from the hilt, painfully unsticking the falcate and holding the bloodied blade meaningfully toward Hurra.
   Now he was scared. Hurra stepped backwards, falling down from an exposed root. He tried to crawl away from the seemingly indestructible cat, looking straight into his eyes. Ronhuk lifted the wolverine up, raising his weapon above his head like a dagger. In one last desperate attempt to escape, Hurra scratched at the cougar's head and face, but to no avail. His screamed in pain was cut short as the falcate was driven to its hilt from his neck into his body.
   The cougar let the limp form drop, and, picking up his own broadsword, used it as a support. He reached pleadingly at the two Dibbuns. "Please. . . help me. . ."
   They screamed, and ran.
   Following them, Ronhuk tried to see where they went. As his adrenaline was wearing off, the pain grew worse, and he stumbled blindly forward. Suddenly, he heard a slight gasp, and, looking up, saw the little ones hiding behind two strong-looking squirrels. "Please. . ." he gasped, but couldn't get any further. The two squirrels now attacked him, one throwing his javelin. The weapon hit him in the knee, and he dropped to his other one, unable to stand. Looking up painfully, he only knew he was hit with something on his forehead, and he saw no more.




Yesh! It'sh out!

[Feles]

Yay, great chapter,  

[The Skarzs]

Thank you!

[Captain Tammo]

Another great addition to the fanfic. Nice work!

[The Skarzs]

Glad it turned out okay; I was a little rushed with this for no reason other than I wanted it to be posted for you guys, so its quality is a little. . . borderline on 'meh' status.
I am working on the next chapter. (Making more effort with it this time)

Oh, I changed the poll, so if any would like to vote, they can.

[The Skarzs]

Chapter Eight
   “Great seasons, what monstrous beast was, is, that?” Both Limbjumper and Spruceclimber looked open-mouthed at the huge, still form of Rhonhuk.  Limb recovered from the shock first, and walked warily towards the cougar. He poked at him with his footpaw, hopping away quickly should the creature awaken. Spruce came closer now, as the other examined Rhonhuk; he pressed an ear to his back, listening for a heartbeat. The squirrel stood.
   “You hit it pretty good with that sling stone, Spruce; he’s completely unconscious, though it was wounded heavily before we saw it.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I’ve never seen anything such as this; it’s like a huge, unstriped wildcat.”
   “Better check for more; we’ve seen a wolf and wolverines, so anything is possible,” Spruce said seriously. “I’m going back to where it came from.” He bounded off, tracking the blood trail until he saw the site of a fight. “Limb!” He yelled, jumping down from the tree he was in. “You’ve got to see this!”
   After a few moments, the veteran squirrel had made his way to his companion, herding the two Dibbuns, and they looked at the wolverine Hurra’s corpse. “That strange cat must’ve killed him,” Limbjumper observed. “D’you think, maybe, he’s not on their side?”
   Spruceclimber closed his eyes and shook his head. “I honestly have no idea, Limb. If he isn’t, then he’s on his own side. If he is, we need to get him to Brockhall to have his wounds treated; he won’t last long in the state he is.”
   His friend hesitated for a moment of thought, and then volunteered an idea. “I’ll bring these two back; they will have been missing them. You stay here until I come back with help.” The tough veteran strapped the Dibbuns to his back, and began making his way to Brockhall as quickly as he could. Spruce sat down on a nearby stump and stared at the giant cat unconscious in front of him.
   “Don’t know where you came from, or even what kind of creature you are; but I do know that if you are against us, bringing you to our home will be the worst idea we have ever had.”

Slincka was out of breath, but he dared not stop. Had it been only two or three of the vermin after him he would have stood and fought, but after some quick glances over his shoulder, he counted seven. He looked behind him again; they had not slowed up. Stubborn beasts, why don’t you give up! Suddenly he tripped on an exposed root, falling heavily on his stomach. The air whooshed out of his lungs, and he gasped for breath as he stumbled up. He heard footsteps of his pursuers come close, and a rough paw shoved him back on the ground.
   “Well, well, looky what we have here; a turncoat.” The ferret’s head was dragged upward by his fur, and he looked painfully at a weasel brandishing a gaff hook. The weasel scratched Slincka’s snout with the weapon’s tip, grinning. “Let’s have a bit of fun. See that rat over there?” He pointed at muscular specimen of the species. “His name is Gepp, and Gepp here is gonna fight you. You enjoy fighting, don’t you, Gepp?”
   The large rat grunted, smiling in anticipation. The weasel let Slincka’s head go. “Gather ‘round, make a ring!” The vermin surrounded the two, as Gepp drew a curved cutlass.
   “Ain’t goin’ nowheres, ferret,” he said.
   Slincka could breathe properly now, and stood slowly. He walked sideways slowly, sizing up his opponent. Drawing his knife, he charged Gepp, only to slide next to him and slice at his leg. Gepp swung his cumbersome blade, only striking dirt as the quick ferret slashed his back. Roaring in pain, the big rat swung wildly, forcing Slincka to dodge desperately. He backed up into the weasel, who shoved him forward midst laughs and jeers.
   Slincka landed on the ground in front of Gepp, who raised his cutlass high for the fatal strike. Slincka stabbed upwards with his knife, causing a painful gasp from the giant rat. Gepp stumbled backwards, his sword still raised; his eyes rolled in their sockets, and he fell dead. Quickly, the ferret was grabbed and forced to his knees. The weasel walked in front of him. “Can’t say I’m not surprised; Gepp was a fearsome fighter. As much fun as it would be to see you scream for it, we need to get back to the battle. Farewell, traiter!”
   He raised his gaff hook, but a sound like an angry hornet buzzed in their ears, and the weasel’s eyes opened wide in surprise when an arrow thudded into his back. “Wha. . . “ He dropped without another word.
   Slincka shook himself free of the other vermin, stabbing one directly through the heart. Another fell with his throat cut open before an arrow killed a ferret to his left. The last two vermin ran, but not before Slincka hit one in his back with a well-thrown knife. Retrieving the weapon, he wiped it clean on the grass. He heard a bowstring stretch behind him, and he raised his paws.
   “Alright, alright; you got me at your mercy. Are you the one who helped me?”
   But it was not a male voice that answered him. “Yes. . . Who are you? Where are you from?”
   “Nyuk, nyuk, funny accent I have, right? My name is Slincka; I’m from very far away. May I ask who you are?”
   “Not until you tell me what side you’re on.” The arrow tip jabbed his neck.
   “Side? I’m on my side, which is the side that my friends are on which may or may not be the side you are on. You can probably tell who I was fighting, and it wasn’t you.”
   There was a pause, and the ferret heard the bowstring relax. He turned and saw a very pretty female ferret. She spoke. “I deserted the horde of Grungath Deathcaller, so I suppose you’re on the same side since you were fighting some of his creatures. My name is Presel, by the way. Presel the wanderer.”
   “Well, Miss Presel, I think we should try to figure out what we’re going to do. We’re both ferrets in the middle of a place that takes us not so friendly.”Slincka thought for a moment. “Actually, what can you tell me of this ‘Grungath Deathcaller’ that would help us?”

It took hours for Limbjumper to come back, along with as many able-bodied beasts he could find. They had brought ropes and bandages for the huge beast, and, with much strain and sweat, had secured Rhonhuk in a mobile cocoon-like contraption. Spruce had spied on the great battle still raging on the plains, neither side giving in to the other. He had slung off some stones into the enemy ranks, but quickly realized how little his small projectiles would do to thin such a massive force.
   “Quietly now, let’s get him back to Brockhall without any disturbances; you never know what else is out there.” As they dragged the cougar, Limb covered their trail with the help of a young mouse named Cavaer.
   “Look at his size!” Cavaer said in amazement. “Is it true that Redwall Abbey was taken by a wolf?”
   “Lower your voice, young ‘un. Yes, it was a wolf; calls himself Grungath Deathcaller.”
   “Do you think this beast could fight him. . . and win?”
   Spruce hesitated. “Well. . . In all truth, I cannot say. He is definitely a huge beast, but so is the wolf. Also, we don’t know for sure he is not in alliance with the wolf. I’ve seen wolverines and wildcats under Grungath’s command; is it so far-fetched that he. . .” he pointed at Rhonhuk, “. . . is also under his command?”
   “It’s better an idea than doing nothing to get back the abbey!”
   “You have the right spirit, friend, but it we would be fools to try such a hasty act; it would not gain us anything, and we would lose far more. We have to be patient with this.”
   Cavaer sighed, trying to accept what was so hard for him. “Alright; you would know far better than I, I guess. I just can’t. . . I can’t forget how little we were able to do when they first came, and what Mother Retha sacrificed so that we could. . .” he set his jaw, though a small tear was seen with the moonlight to run down his face.
   The veteran squirrel placed a paw on the young mouse’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Cav. We’ll get our abbey back if it’s the last thing we do. Redwallers have battled in countless wars, ever on the brink of failure, but always regaining what is theirs through their determination.”
   “Don’t forget the spirit of Martin the Warrior!” A light glowed in the mouse’s eyes as he spoke the name of their beloved protector.
   Spruce smiled at the young one’s faith. “Yes; Martin will help us.”

Grungath held a goblet of elderberry wine in his paw as he sat regally on his great throne. His remaining captains stood nearby, not daring to move in front of the feared Deathcaller. The handsome wolf sipped his wine; the previous inhabitants definitely knew their paw at brewing the drink. Sitting back into his dark cloak, he recalled how he had earned the title of ‘Deathcaller’, as well as the fabled tales of the origin of the name.
   The first Deathcaller to be named as such was a wolf like himself. He had conquered the harsh lands of ice and snow and claimed it as his own. Other wolves had been alive at the time, and many challenged the ruler for his powerful position. One after another they had fought him, none of them succeeding in being victorious over him. He was death to all, and he had become such a creature of legendary standards that it was thought that none could kill him. Whispered words behind shaking paw were spoke, telling of tales that were passed along. Some said he could kill you by merely calling one’s name; others claimed he had only to let you see his weapon for you to die. So did the name ‘Deathcaller’ become his title.
   As this first Deathcaller grew old, some creatures found in their hearts the bold ambition to kill the wolf and claim the legendary title as their own. Many died despite the wolf’s growing age, until one fight was the end for both opponents. Countless seasons later, the North was once again broken and unchecked. A new leader was needed for the survival of all creatures in that cold, harsh land. Up from the ashes of near-disaster, another wolf united the divided clans, hordes, and bands of creatures under his rule. He gained much power, and, upon hearing the legend of the Deathcaller, resurfaced the name and took it as his own.
        It was not until after this second Deathcaller had died when the young Grungath had first heard the tales of the land of Mossflower, holding within its borders the fabled Redall Abbey, and he begun his ambitious campaign. Already well grasping a high position in the North, the young wolf had started collecting a large force, as well as commissioning the investment of literally tons of iron and steel to be made into weapons and armor.
        Not wishing his son to become more powerful than he, Grungath’s father, at the time known as Hrugen Deathcaller, ordered a halt to his son’s proceedings. Angered at his father’s actions, Grungath challenged his father’s position as ruler of the North, and the claim of Deathcaller.
   “You grow old and fat on your throne, watching without care as the rest of us struggle to live as best we can in these lands.” His father had stood from his seat, his eyes flashing like the light reflecting from his chest plate as his offspring continued. “You call yourself a Deathcaller; you disgrace the name by breathing. That name is given only to the most deadly and powerful of creatures in the North. Have you done any conquest for countless seasons? No.”
   The Deathcaller stepped closer, his paw edging closer to the handle of a Viking-style axe.
   “Have you showed forth your power and might, the reason you are to be feared by all? No.”
   Hrugen was now not ten feet from him.
   “Have you ever considered yourself unworthy for your title? No.”
   As quick as hornets, both beasts drew their weapons, Grungath catching his father’s axe on the blade of his broadsword. The Deathcaller sneered at his son. “I am the only one worthy! I proved myself worthy when no one else could!”
   He drew back and struck with blinding swiftness, only to be blocked with equal skill and speed by his son. The servants and captains of their wolf overlord backed away, knowing the conflict would inevitably end in the death of one or both the wolves. The older wolf continued berating his son as they circled each other. “I have slayed hundreds; I bear the scars of countless battles that earned me the right of the title. My title!” Hrugen charged Grungath, swinging his axe expertly.
        Unfortunately for the Deathcaller, the younger wolf knew his father’s fighting techniques inside and out. Sidestepping to the left where he was left open, he drove his broadsword point straight into the gap in the older wolf’s armor. A gasp went up from the throats of the onlookers, as well as the mouth of the Deathcaller. Many emotions were heard from that one gasp: pain, anger, but most of all, surprise. When Grungath extricated his sword from the wolf, Hrugen stumbled backwards, somehow still able to stand despite the fatal wound. Looking up from the blood flowing from his opened side, the wolf stared unbelievingly at his son.
        “Y-you killed me. You c-cannot kill a, a. . . a Deathcaller!” With these final words escaping his lips, the former Deathcaller and overlord of the North slumped to the ground in death. Grungath stepped over the dead body, sitting down with regal satisfaction on the throne. The captains and servants gathered in front of him, bowing low in homage to their new leader.
        “Hail, Grungath, Deathcaller!”
        Now bearing the title of the invincible Deathcaller, the young wolf beckoned a servant to him. “Send word to the mines and foundries; they are to relight their fires and continue cutting into the great iron veins. We are preparing for an invasion in the land known as ‘Mossflower’.”
        Now in Cavern Hole of his newly-claimed fortress, Grungath smiled. He was now the most powerful creature to set foot in the land.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is out!
If anyone has any questions about the story so far, or anything that you would like me to clear up, please be sure to ask.
Also, if any of you would like me to write a short story on the Deathcallers, please tell me, as I will do it if you all would like me to.
Thank you!

[Feles]

Another well made chapter

As for that short story on the Deathcallers, I would like to see short stories on the backgrounds of the characters

[The Skarzs]

Mind specifying a couple?