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Post by Lisolette on Feb 22, 2010 9:55:06 GMT 5
(ooc: o-o Really? Well, I'm afraid that wouldn't be all to fair. YOU made her, and she's your responsibility, just like Foremole is mine, and Sir Chewey is Malums.)
BIC: Foremole Rootarkin blinked at Convel as he ran off, then back in, with the wolf-maid. "Ah, wait!" The mole-leader hastily followed the two, "I brought these vittles for the mizz Inion, but there's enough for ye two, zurr Convel!" Rootarkin called out, percariously balancing the food and tray.
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Post by phrostphyre on Feb 23, 2010 4:03:35 GMT 5
ooc:Mhpm. I see said the blind man. Alrighty, I gotcha.
Convel was going down the stairs when he heard the mole having trouble, so he relived the mole of his burden and glanced out a window on the staircase. What he saw was deeply shocking. He saw many vermin trying to storm the walls, and as there were no wall guards, he raised the alarm.
"VERMIN! GET ALL THE NONCOMBATANTS TAE THE CELLAR! OTTERS AND SQUIRRELS, HOLD GREAT HALL! SAH CHEWY, TAKE YOUR SWORD AND DINNAE LET ANY BEAST INTAE THE ABBEY!WHERE'S MAI CLAYMORE?!" Giving the food platter to Inion, Convel rushed up the stairs in to the Infirmary, and saw his claymore under his bed. Bounding to it, he took off his shirt, grabbed the claymore, and jumped out the window, and landed hard. Taking off to the wall-top, when he got there, he jumped over the battlements, and rushed into the vermin swinging his massive sword.
~*~
Inion watched the massive wolf and shook her head as he jumped over the wall.
"Show off." She calmly took the food downstairs and set it on a table.
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Post by Lisolette on Feb 23, 2010 6:19:08 GMT 5
(ooc: 'The mole'...?   You must think I'm sticking my pole at you, don't you?) BIC: Gasping, Foremole Rootarkin ran off to the Dibbuns Bedroom to grab Soiler. The molebabe squeaked a dissaproval as Foremole wisked him away from his crib, but he fell asleep in his adopted fathers arms as Rootarkin ran to the cellar. -~*~- Back at the Abbey's ramparts, Flitchaye weasels, covered in grass and carrying torchers of awful smelling herbs, along with weapons, were running 'round, screaming their war-cry, "Flitchaye! Flitchaye! Flitchaye!" The leader of the Flitchaye was barking out orders as he went along, "Archahs! At the north wall! Slingahs! To the west! Spear-throwahs! East! Javelin-throwahs! South!" The weasel screamed, "Everyone else-attack the wall and try not to get 'urt!" A grand amount of weasel voices rose up again, "Flitchaye! Flitchaye! Flitchaye!" "Give'em death! Give'em blood! Give'em our blades!!" The weasel leader screamed alloud before charging through the mob of attacking weasels, and slammed himself against the gates. Once again crying their battle-cry, the other Flitchaye weasels slammed themselves against the gates, in-between using themselves as living battery-rams, they would hack at the wooden gates. The cry of the weasels ringed in everybodies ears... "Flitchaye! Flitchaye! Flitchaye!" |
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Post by phrostphyre on Feb 23, 2010 6:34:21 GMT 5
As Convel hacked the arm off of one Flitchaye, he noticed the herbs they were carrying, and figured out what they would to his sensitive snout. Ripping a strip of cloth from his kilt as he held the claymore one-handed without strain, he spat on it several times, ripped it two, and shoved the parts into his nostrils. Breathing with his mouth as small as it could go, he skipped his battle cry and tried making his way through the Fltichaye weasels dealing as much death and damage as he could to them, while working his way to the gates to stop the living-battering rams.
Noticing the leader, he worked even harder, knowing that he should have hunted him down before. But nope, now HE has to fight on an empty stomach. This is nay fair! The last food I had was that crust of bread near the river! I'm going to starve before I die of old age or death in battle.... Still muttering to himself about the starvation of a poor wolf, he gave up on getting to the leader and just tried to kill as much as possible.
The heaving mass of limbs made working with a long blade impossible, so Convel tossed his claymore into the air at the trees, and drew his dirk and Sgian dubh. Setting to with a will, he grinned a wolfish grin.
~*~
Inion sat watching the fight from a window.
"Silly males. Fighting is such an... outdated method of solving disputes." Shaking her head, she went down to the Cellar to comfort the Dibbuns.
ooc:I don't know what you mean.
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Post by Lisolette on Feb 23, 2010 6:55:18 GMT 5
(ooc: Merf.  ) BIC: The Flitchaye leader looked behind him as screams rose up from his Flitchaye. "Sword and knife wielders! Kill thee wolfy! Axe-wielders! 'Elp me choppem up dis 'ere gate! Rest o' ye-keep on doin' what yer doin'!" The weasels obiedently did as they were told. Roaring, the weasels with swords and knives charged at Convel, using whatever chance they got to thrust, stab, and defend-mostly it the thrusts and stab would go to the air. Screaming randm babble, the Flitchaye axe-wielders hacked and chopped at the wooden gate, while the rest of them threw themselves at the gates. |
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Post by phrostphyre on Feb 23, 2010 7:11:53 GMT 5
"AI COULD USE SOME HELP OUT HERE! Dinna worrit yourselves wee Fltichaye, Faither Wolf has come fair ye! Sgurr Uran!" As Convel heard the leader bellowing orders, he started seeing red, and heard the voice of his father and ancestors urging him on to greater lengths to try and kill the leader.
"Strike laddie! Do it for your sisters! Remember what the MacKenzies did tae them!" As Convel saw their bodies before him in his mind's eye, the Bloodwrath grew in him 'till he was in a fit worse than the worst Badger Lord. He only knew that his sole purpose in life was to kill. Ignoring everything including the sinking sun and the fact that one Flitchaye archer had targeted him, he thrusted, he slashed, he parried, and he took enough wounds to slow him down enough to where the crush of bodies around him actually started to hurt him. By the time he was far enough to actually stab the Flitchaye leader with his broadsword, he was about to go down beneath the press of bodies.
Seeing his ancestral home, his father's castle burning and his sisters lying dead outside it, Convel had worn himself out, but he kept going. He used the muscles of steel and drew upon a reserve of strength he wasn't even aware of, Convel reached out and nearly stabbed the Flitchaye leader in the neck. Convel kept trying to fight, but was drunk on pain and exhaustion. Collapsing, covered in over a hundred wounds, blood and gore, he was knocked unconscious when his head thudded against the gate.
Inion saw the massivee wolf go down an gasped, exclaiming:
"Somebeast has to help him! He might die! Where's all the otters an squirrels that are supposed to be here?!"
ooc:Leaving him open to be captured, rescued, or killed.
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Post by Lisolette on Feb 23, 2010 7:17:15 GMT 5
(ooc: Hey, just becuase we don't play some characters, doesn't mean they're not there. ) |
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Post by phrostphyre on Feb 23, 2010 7:20:14 GMT 5
ooc: You mean like the wee otters? I see. Convel didn't notice them. Sorry.
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Post by Lisolette on Feb 23, 2010 7:52:46 GMT 5
(ooc: And wee squirrels. ^-^ )
BIC: Almost immediately after Inion called for help, Woodlanders that could fight close-combat ran out, armed with swords and other weapons. "REEEEEEEEEEEDWAAAAAAAAAAAAALL!" They cried out, as they frantically hacked away at Flitchaye in an attempt to rescue Convel.
After about a hundred Abbeybeasts were out, the gates closed behind them, the archers and slingers waited up on the ramparts for the rescue party to come back with the wolf. A few Flitchaye weasels had flown themselves into the Abbey, but they were quickly delt with.
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Post by phrostphyre on Feb 24, 2010 3:15:03 GMT 5
Everything had a grayish haze to it. Convel was standing on an open plain and looking around. Is this The Isles of the Blessed? Am I dead? When he turned around, he groaned. There was doorway. Beyond the doorway were the heaving mass of limbs meaning a fight. Beyond the limbs was the gate to Redwall Abbey. Knowing what was going on didn't mean with it came relief. Instead, he started he taking a step to the doorway, knowing if he did he'd be back in the fight. Groaning once more, he thought of the numbers the Flitchaye had and the ones that the Redwallers had. Taking another step towards the door, he suddenly realized that if he stayed here, he'd be able to see his family again, but that he'd be leaving Soiler. Ignoring reason, he started running towards the door.
"Ye chose right laddie. We're proud of ye." Hearing his father's voice, Convel sped up, eager to be in the fight now. As he neared the door even further, he started to hurt in so many places, it wasn't funny. As he burst through the door, he found himself at the bottom of a pile of weasels. Gathering his strength, he burst out like an arrow from a bow, sending weasels flying everywhere.
"SGURR URAN! Ai'm back laddies!" His blades having been plundered, Convel set about boxing with them. Throwing a jab into the face of the nearest one, he threw an uppercut at one to his left and blocked a knife to the neck. Stealing it from the owner, he let loose with all his anger and hate and went into the fight once more happily.
~*~
"Woah! Did you see that? A wolf is even more dangerous than a Badger Lord in Bloodwrath!"
Inion hadn't ever heard of the Bloodwrath, but seeing Convel burst out of the weasel pile like was so surprising she wondered why he wasn't dead.
"How come he's not dead? By all rights he should be, but look! He's grinning at the sound of the Flitchaye warchant! What's wrong with him?" Inion had never seen so much blood, and promptly fainted at the sight of a weasel's head flying off into the distance as Convel bit into it and pulled.
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