A New Beginning

[Delthion]

It had been many years since that fateful day, the Sundering of Salamandastron. Many hares have fallen since then, and many hares have filled their places, so that, as it is with all things in life, only a few are remembered to this day. This tale begins in the north of Mossflower wood. A band of nomad hares are trying to settle down and build a home.

An ancient hare by the name of Gerald Willowworth was dozing in the afternoon sun. You could tell by his face that he had been through many years, and was well-learned in all of them. A mockingbird sang in the forest and the hare sat up blinking and said to himself, "Dear me! I wonder how long have I been sleeping? There are things to do while the sun dances around the earth! Save the sleeping for the moonlit hours you old fool!" As soon as he said the words he chuckled, as he always did when he was trying to be poetic. Then he rose and went off to the center of the encampment, which was several larger tents that housed the officers and their families. "Where have you been all this time?" called a younger hare. "The gatherers are back and the feast is nearly ready!" "I have been where young rascals like you can't bother me!" said Gerald laughing. "But where is the Colonel?" Then the younger hare's face grew more sullen. "He is where he usually is this time of day, walking around the woods by himself. But he'll be back in time for the feast." Gerald nodded and sat down by the fire, deep in thought. Until several leverets gathered round him, begging for a story. He laughed and began telling them stories of years gone by.

[Eulaliaaa!]

  A young hare, Brooke Featherpaw, sat apart from the leverlets, only half listening to what Gerald said. She was sharpening her spear, which did not need to be sharpened as it had never been used much, but she did it anyway. She always imagined herself to be the kind that would sit as an old one, telling the tales of adventures gone by. Her eyes flicked upwards towards the storyteller, and a smile spread itself across her face. One of these days, she'll have seen adventures like his. Even bigger, better, more dangerous one. She turned her attention towards the camp, looking for something she could help out with.

[Rosie Willowwater]

The rise of the sun found Sarlamon Bluehorn sitting in her tent, eavesdropping on one of the old hares, telling a story of his younger years and all his adventures. How she hated her name, she forced all of her friends to call her Sal, though she did not have many. Her attitude and manner made her very hard to be around. Many of the other hares said she took after her father who was a warrior in this small tribe. Sal got up and walked out of her tent to listen more clearly to the elder's stories.   

[Fatch of Southsward]

OOC: Sorry for keeping us waiting - I didn't even realize you had started. 

BIC:

Sham Fleetfoot was doing his best to look "cool," as many young hares did at that age. As the ancient Gerald weaved a raucous tale, Sham sat nearby, hoping to look as though he too had experienced similar adventures. He ruffled the fur on top of his head and laughed along at a story involving Gerald bartering his way out of a tight fix by offering to bake three sea rats a blueberry pie. As the stories continued, he mindlessly caressed the hilt of his sword. It had yet to see any real action. Perhaps the opportunity would soon present itself.

[Groddil]

Major Fallop Bladedancer Bushtail Ratdeath Costloff finally left his tent, having snuck away before Gerald could begin droning on. The Major shrugged his belt over his regimental tunic, before shoving a heavy saber and parrying dagger through it. Straightening his tunic, the hare ducked back into the afternoon sunlight, walking over to the main group. Celebration was not the Major's strong suit, considering he was the second-in-command of a band of hares, mostly young, with no safe place left to go. Still, Fallop was a hare, and the promise of a feast was enough to tear him away from his solitude. The Major walked over to where several hares were cooking, drawn by the wondrous smell.
"I say, cooky ole chap. Are these vittles up ta bloomin' scratch?"
"Yes, sah!"
"Well, doncha think yer offisah oughta be the one ta bloomin' well taste test 'em?"
"No, sah!"
All the Major could say was "Wot."
"Don't get me wrong, Major. There's no inso-bally-bordination in the ranks or anythin', eh wot? But you're the Major! Wot if there IS somethin' wrong with the vittles? I wouldn't want ye ta get 'urt, sah!"
Fallop's ears stood up with indignation.
"Well, that would mean ya did a bad job, cooky. Bad form, cooky. Bad form!"
The Major strode off in disgust, wishing that the food would hurry up and cook itself faster.

<|V|>

Meanwhile, deep in the woods, a runty weasel stumbled through the brush. This was Midgo, outcast of the Flitchaye. Midgo rubbed at the plant dyes smeared on his fur, trying to remove any reminders of his past. Mebbe, the weasel thought, I could become leader o' me own band a vermin. Size don't matter, me mudda used ta say...Well, afore I killed 'er that is. They'll all fear me, they will. Cause I'll be small an' fast an' I'll slit their throats if they disobeys me!

[Fatch of Southsward]

Sham noticed Major Costloff sneak away. He followed at a distance, wondering what he was up to. He listened carefully to his entertaining conversation with the cook, and an idea quickly formed in his mind.

Sham was always looking to prove himself. The lack of enemies made it difficult to do so, but this opportunity was perfect. He could show his nerve and perhaps make friends with a high ranking officer. Not many of the other young hares had that kind of connection - perhaps Sham could stand apart that way.

As the cook rambled on about "Inso-bally-bordination," Sham snuck several scones and a salad from behind him, and darted nimbly away.

As the major walked away, Sham jogged up level with him.

"Wot - ho Major Costloff old chap! Thought you were bally well right about offisah's deserving a chance at beein' the first to try the vittles. I nicked some while you were kindly distracting the bloomin' cook chap - wot!"

He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder.

"Fancy a tad? Just don't tell anybeast! That cooky's wooden spoon looks downright dangerous, sah!"

[Delthion]

Colonel Harold Springpaw was out walking, as he always did at this time of the afternoon. He enjoyed being alone with his thoughts and listening to the bird songs. He had been walking for about an hour, and could see the camp ahead of him. He heard Gerald telling a yarn of times long past, he smiled a little, "Could it be that it was only a few years ago?" He glanced around the kitchens and saw that everything was ready. "Haven't burnt anything this time I hope." He chuckled at the cook's expression and walked over to the table, motioning to Gerald that things were ready.

"Well now all you young leverets and inexperienced buffoons!" Gerald shouted in a voice that was unexpectedly loud for one of his age. "This is the time I am sure you've all been waiting for! Especially you I guess Major! As soon as the food arrives we shall begin the most important time of any day!" As he finished speaking the banquet approached on the shoulders of various cooks attempting to shoo the hares that were prancing about them away. Then all was silent as the hares tore apart the meal with their usual gusto!

[Fatch of Southsward]

OOC: @Groddil - looks like the meal has already begun. Don't mind my last post. 

[Rosie Willowwater]

Sal sat and listened to the elder for the morning until she heard the young Gerald calling everyone up to feast.

Sal ran up to the tables and at down next to a young hare whom she thought was Brooke Featherpaw. She only knew her from slight interactions, but that was better than most people.

[Delthion]

OOC: @Rosie Willowwater  Gerald is the elder.

[Rosie Willowwater]

OOC: Oh... Well then

[Fatch of Southsward]

Sham had tactfully chosen a seat at the banquet across from the two young haremaids - Brooke and Sal. Grinning cheerily, he plowed through his meal, hoping to look like a champion food-eater.

He inquired neither of them in particular over a delicious pasty -

"Hear anything about the jolly old vermin in these parts? Major said there were a few of the blighters flippin hanging about, wot!"

His expression became serious - "I hope I get a bally chance to fight one of 'em. Just to show I'm ready to be a part of the patrol. Always wanted to be in the Patrol, wot? Same for you chaps?"

[Groddil]

The Major, usually a distinguished and cultured creature, abandoned his stout outer resolve once the food arrived. Pilling his plate high with salad, pastries, and trifle, and balancing a bowl of soup in his other paw, the aging hare finally reached the large rock where he had decided to eat in peace. Setting the food down, the hare scrabbled up to the top, before reaching down and hauling his dishes up to the top with him. Finally undisturbed, Fallop launched into what he would chide many of the younger hares for: scarfing down food like he'd just came out of a famine. In minutes, The Major had already demolished the salad, and tossed the last piece of soup-dipped pasty into his mouth. Fallop's ears shot up straight, as he began complimenting the food. Talk; however, was quickly forgotten in favor of a second helping.

[Rosie Willowwater]

Sal started and looked up when she heard Sham talking to her. "You should already know that I've been working towards patrol for years. If you know any way to get into there then I'm coming with you."

[Fatch of Southsward]

Sham's eyes lit up and went dreamy, and he pushed away the remains of his pasty - food forgotten, as his deepest ambition took over.

"Ahhh, the ol'  patrol. Fame, glory and friendship. Courage, fortitude and valor, wot!? The most elite group of fighters in the land, a blinkin' honor just to be associated with the blighters. Mark my words, Sal, I'll be a patroller one day, and it'd be corkin' if you and Brooke got in to!"