Post by phrostphyre on Feb 22, 2010 0:50:21 GMT 5
Disclamier: I do not own Redwall, or anything else in said Redwall series. I wish I did, but alas, that'll probably never happen. One can wish 
!
*I got no clue what this'll be rated, the characters are telling the story, not me!*
As Roth MacTire watched his horde from inside his tent and a comfy chair, he smiled inside. His beasts were ready for war, and war they would have, except for his damnable brother, the one who wasn't the runt of the family. Roth and his brother had been born at the same time, to two captains in the army of the Northern Empire, farther north than anybeast cared to think about, but now, the Army was his, and the Empire was his. He had killed, lied and stolen to get the rank of Emperor, but the only thing that stopped him from marching on Redwall Abbey was the fact that damned massive wolf brother of his was missing, having disapppeared from a scouting mission farther south than Redwall.
"What ta do aboot Convel? He's been missing a few seasons, and the beasts farther south might have ambushed and captured him and killed the scouts he was with." Lost in his musings, Roth reflected on the fact that though he could have been Emperor, his brother Convel had settled for being a broadsword scout, a strange choice for a beast that could have carried two battle-axes from the lands from the north and to the east, yet carried only a sword and at some times, a targe. Wondering if his brother was wrong in the head, Roth was intterupted by a Dealisbard with something.
"Sah, some of ouir scouts found this near the site where Convel disappeared!" He was leading a smallish looking weasel on a rope. "It's one of the scouts that went missing, and we never found it's body." The wolf stood up and circled the weasel.
"Tell me everything ye ken about Convel's disappearance, and where he went!" The terrified weasel stood shaking and shivering, sfared of the reputation wolves had, that of merciless killers and murderous tyrants, the few that were still alive.
"We was walkin' along, see? Then this 'uge badger ambushed us with a hunner-fifty rabbits! Convel fought like a madbeast, but they outnumber'd him, ands we alls got knocked out, and when I came to, he was gone an' the rest of us was dead, sir!" The weasel, whose name was Fattail, hoped to whatever beast that watched over him that Roth would believe he was telling the truth.
Roth paced around the Dealisbard and Fattail, muttering under his breath.
"We march south! Ready my army, and prepare for war against all!"
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What Roth couldn't know, was that Convel MacTire was actually being brutually flogged inside Salamandastron, and that he was only captured by thirty or so hares, and one badger, not one hundred-fifty.
"Tell us what kind of vermin scum you are, or we'll flog you more!" This coming the Badgerlord, Rownak. He was a huge badger, with a light, light red stripe, nearly pink.
"M'lud, doncha think the blighter's had enough for now? The ol' chap can barely speak, let alone form somethin' coherent." The speaker was a female hare, with light cream colored fur, and named Creampaw.
"Och, Ai'm a wolf from up Nairth aways, and I hope ye kill me. Ye'd be doin me a wee favor, if ye did. But, Ai'll repeat everything Ai already told ye. Ai'm Captain Convel MacTire, captain of scouts in the Army of the Hungan Empire, and Ai'm glad ye took me from mai broither, evil wee beastie that Roth is." Convel was close to bleeding to death, and even his massive seven foot tall frame couldn't take repeated floggings like those he had been subjected to, but he hadn't cried out in pain or for it to stop once, even though the sweat mingling and running down with the blood on his back, under his kilt, and down his legs was hurting him.
"Scum, how many innocent beasts did you kill with your wicked blades?" Rownak held up Convel's claymore, broadsword, and dirk.
"Ai've never killed unarmed beasts with those blades, and never killed any beast unless they were tryin' ta kill me first. If ye ive me mai dirk, I'll swear on the Holy Iron, in the name of Faither Wolf." The wolf was tied to a whipping post, and about to faint.
"M'lud, I say we let him do it. How many vermin blighters could've survived that flogging without crying out? None, only a true warrior, and he seems not ta care if we kill him." Creampaw was looking anxisously at the massive wolf, and wondering if he'd survive. "Besides, he's tied."
"Alright, but if he does anything wrong, I'll hold you responsible for him." Rownak set the other blades down, and held out the dirk by the blade to Convel.
"Ai swear on this Holy Iron, by Faither Wolf, that Ai've nay killed anybeast with these blades except if they ware tryin' ta kill me fairst. Furthermore, if I harm anybeast in this mighty mountain, may I die fair from clan, home, and the Northlands themselves!" As Convel finished his oath, he dropped the dirk, gasping from the bloodloss. Barely able to lift his head, he looked up at Creampaw and then fainted.
!*I got no clue what this'll be rated, the characters are telling the story, not me!*
As Roth MacTire watched his horde from inside his tent and a comfy chair, he smiled inside. His beasts were ready for war, and war they would have, except for his damnable brother, the one who wasn't the runt of the family. Roth and his brother had been born at the same time, to two captains in the army of the Northern Empire, farther north than anybeast cared to think about, but now, the Army was his, and the Empire was his. He had killed, lied and stolen to get the rank of Emperor, but the only thing that stopped him from marching on Redwall Abbey was the fact that damned massive wolf brother of his was missing, having disapppeared from a scouting mission farther south than Redwall.
"What ta do aboot Convel? He's been missing a few seasons, and the beasts farther south might have ambushed and captured him and killed the scouts he was with." Lost in his musings, Roth reflected on the fact that though he could have been Emperor, his brother Convel had settled for being a broadsword scout, a strange choice for a beast that could have carried two battle-axes from the lands from the north and to the east, yet carried only a sword and at some times, a targe. Wondering if his brother was wrong in the head, Roth was intterupted by a Dealisbard with something.
"Sah, some of ouir scouts found this near the site where Convel disappeared!" He was leading a smallish looking weasel on a rope. "It's one of the scouts that went missing, and we never found it's body." The wolf stood up and circled the weasel.
"Tell me everything ye ken about Convel's disappearance, and where he went!" The terrified weasel stood shaking and shivering, sfared of the reputation wolves had, that of merciless killers and murderous tyrants, the few that were still alive.
"We was walkin' along, see? Then this 'uge badger ambushed us with a hunner-fifty rabbits! Convel fought like a madbeast, but they outnumber'd him, ands we alls got knocked out, and when I came to, he was gone an' the rest of us was dead, sir!" The weasel, whose name was Fattail, hoped to whatever beast that watched over him that Roth would believe he was telling the truth.
Roth paced around the Dealisbard and Fattail, muttering under his breath.
"We march south! Ready my army, and prepare for war against all!"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
What Roth couldn't know, was that Convel MacTire was actually being brutually flogged inside Salamandastron, and that he was only captured by thirty or so hares, and one badger, not one hundred-fifty.
"Tell us what kind of vermin scum you are, or we'll flog you more!" This coming the Badgerlord, Rownak. He was a huge badger, with a light, light red stripe, nearly pink.
"M'lud, doncha think the blighter's had enough for now? The ol' chap can barely speak, let alone form somethin' coherent." The speaker was a female hare, with light cream colored fur, and named Creampaw.
"Och, Ai'm a wolf from up Nairth aways, and I hope ye kill me. Ye'd be doin me a wee favor, if ye did. But, Ai'll repeat everything Ai already told ye. Ai'm Captain Convel MacTire, captain of scouts in the Army of the Hungan Empire, and Ai'm glad ye took me from mai broither, evil wee beastie that Roth is." Convel was close to bleeding to death, and even his massive seven foot tall frame couldn't take repeated floggings like those he had been subjected to, but he hadn't cried out in pain or for it to stop once, even though the sweat mingling and running down with the blood on his back, under his kilt, and down his legs was hurting him.
"Scum, how many innocent beasts did you kill with your wicked blades?" Rownak held up Convel's claymore, broadsword, and dirk.
"Ai've never killed unarmed beasts with those blades, and never killed any beast unless they were tryin' ta kill me first. If ye ive me mai dirk, I'll swear on the Holy Iron, in the name of Faither Wolf." The wolf was tied to a whipping post, and about to faint.
"M'lud, I say we let him do it. How many vermin blighters could've survived that flogging without crying out? None, only a true warrior, and he seems not ta care if we kill him." Creampaw was looking anxisously at the massive wolf, and wondering if he'd survive. "Besides, he's tied."
"Alright, but if he does anything wrong, I'll hold you responsible for him." Rownak set the other blades down, and held out the dirk by the blade to Convel.
"Ai swear on this Holy Iron, by Faither Wolf, that Ai've nay killed anybeast with these blades except if they ware tryin' ta kill me fairst. Furthermore, if I harm anybeast in this mighty mountain, may I die fair from clan, home, and the Northlands themselves!" As Convel finished his oath, he dropped the dirk, gasping from the bloodloss. Barely able to lift his head, he looked up at Creampaw and then fainted.
Rownak sounds like a mean Badger Lord...