A Tale of Three Delinquint Squirrels

Seasons ago, in the time when Lorimis' was Abbot & the village of Ferravale was newly founded, two squirrel youths set out from Redwall Abbey in search of grand adventure and - more importantly to the two - their families, the MacGarrans & the McCulloughs. They came in time to the city of Collinsel, a choice they came to regret. Yet they stayed in that place for a season or more, despite being forced to resort to stealing and rummaging for scraps to survive and living, for a time, in an old warehouse. An even younger squirrel joined them for a time, but he came and went as he pleased - they never were able to say goodbye in the end.

But eventually they left that eastern port & returned to Mossflower, a little bit older and (hypothetically) a little bit wiser.

OOC: From roughly April 2012 to sometime in 2013 when we both went inactive for a time, my character John and the character Trisscar (played by cotton 300) spent RPing in Collinsel. These logs are all that was recorded on the Radio regarding the characters at that time, and most are incomplete. I've tried to fill in the gaps going off of my own memory, but this is not a perfect solution.

Furthermore, when our characters returned to Mossflower in 2014 we had an discussion concerning changing our character’s names. John’s last name was retconned from ‘McGrove’ to MacGarran, while Trisscar’s name was changed to Trillis, as the player wished to be more separate from the books. I’ve edited these logs to make them easier to read (as at the time I was a dreadful speller & RPer) as well as changed the names when used to keep things constant with later logs.

Part I: A meeting, Summer

John & Trillis had first arrived in the city in the spring before departing north for Marshank with the latter's brother, where they fought vermin who had taken residence there. Neither John nor Trillis were particularly skilled in battle, and got out only the skin of their teeth (and help from the otter Tristan, possibly). Beaten and battered, they limped back to Collinsel... Having left Tristan, and the fight, behind.

Trillis siting at a table looking sourly down at a mug of ale. There is a rat beside her who is grinning "Yew said you would drink the WHOLE thing"

Trillis frowns "I did not know how it tasted then."

The tavern doors swing open and a hooded figure is seen filling the doorway. As he steps inside the tavern, you can see that his green-grey cloak is ripped, muddy, and generally travel- and battle-worn. He looks around, his eyes hidden by his hood. He spots Trillis and walks calmly over to her, sitting across from her. His identity still remains a secret, unless she can tell by the longbow on his back and the distinctive cloak.

Trillis shakes her head at the rat "You can have it" The rat takes the ale happily. Trillis sees the cloaked figure "Yes?" she does not know who it is.

Tristan pushes back the stained and dirty hood to reveal a tired and dirty face, but a face Trillis should recognize. He says nothing however, just looking at her.

A slow smiles spreads across the squirrelmaid's face. "Tristan!" she frowns slightly, "You look horrible."

Tristan still looks at her with that same even, almost unsettling expression. "Thanks." he says roughly, "That tends to happen when you spend a few weeks trapped in an ancient fortress with enemies on all sides." he says, a very very faint trace of anger working into his tone.

Trillis senses what might be coming. "About that... Sorry we could not get back sooner we were planing to go back in a few days." she frowns than brightens slightly "Can I buy you a drink?"

Tristan taps his paw on the table, "You would've been killed if you had tried to come back, I don't really blame you." he shakes his head no to the offer of the drink.

Trillis nods, "So som'one took Marshank?" she toys with the fox ear that is in place of the one that got cut off.

Tristan glances at the ear, "You don't look so great yourself." after a few seconds he said. "Pretty sure. There was a fox there that was keeping them at bay, wild fighter. But he's most likely dead now. Dosn't matter. That merc group's got a horde as well, so they'll most likely hold the fortress soon enough.

Trillis glares slightly. "Are you insulting MY EAR?!?!" she frowns than her ears perk "Who was the fox?"

Tristan seems to be unfazed by her glare and brief outburst, "Think his name was Moontail. Wore a hooded cloak, very messed up face."

Trillis frowns "He had better not be dead. Me and him have a fight to fight."

"Judging by how he fought against that horde, you'd be pretty well outmatched I think." he says calmly.

Trillis scowls "Never. I am a McCullough and I WILL kill him."

Tristan nods, "Mhm, sure." he says, obviously unimpressed by her display of bravado.

Tristan stands and walks towards the stairs, "I need some sleep, we'll talk more later."

Part II. A meeting, continued

Tristan walks downstairs, having cleaned up and slept some, he looks much better. His cloak has been left in his room, and he's just wearing a freshly washed tunic.

Trillis is sitting in a corner with and extreme frown on her face. She does not notice Tristan.

Tristan walks over to her table, pulling out a chair and sitting down and leaning back in it. He looks over at Trillis, decides it might not be a great idea to mess with her for the moment, and turns to look at the other patrons.

Trillis looks up as Tristan sits down "Oh, hello. Do you feel better?" She still seems rather 'long in the face' but she brightens some to have some company.

Tristan nods, "I do. Still need to rest here some more, but I think I may go back to the Abbey soon. I've been away from..." he seems reluctant to say 'home', "There too long. My sister's probably wondering where I've been."

Trillis asks, "Who is your sister?"

"Aeris." he says, picking at a scab on the back of his paw from a shallow cut.

Trillis shakes her head. "I have never met her." she frowns again and she completely changes the subject "I am worried. Do you think I will ever find my clan?"

Tristan shrugs, "No idea. I heard that there's been a few running around here, but I haven't seen any."

Trillis sighs than grins and says jokingly, "I should start a hunt for them"

Tristan nods, "If you do, count me out."

Trillis chuckles "Don't worry, You have been through enough already."

Tristan grabs a small glass of whiskey off the tray of a passing waitress and takes a sip. "Whatever happened to John and your brother."

Trillis grins "They are still around. They are trying to recover from a battle we had with Morgoth and his slave, what was his name? Som'thing like Fume?" she shrugs "Who knows."

Tristan shakes his head, "Don't know. Anyways," he says, drinking the rest of his whiskey, "I'll probably head back to the abbey soon. Happy hunting."

Trillis nods. "It will be joyful hunting indeed. If you see Helmut back at the Abbey tell him I said hi!"

Tristan nods, spinning the glass in his paw, "I will."

Trillis sighs and than yawns "all the food I stole is for nothing." she shrugs "oh well." she stand up and stretches "I am off to bed. Good-night and Good-bye if I do not see you before you leave" She starts to head toward the stairs

Tristan just nods to her, sitting alone, thinking.

Part III. The Harbenger, Summer

Trillis is sitting at the bar drinking one of her favorite drinks... water.

The doors swing open, and a large black crow hops in and perches next to her on a barstool.

Trillis eyes the crow. "Yes?"

The crow looks at her with beady yellow eyes. "KRAW! You are trillis-squirrel."

Trillis looks slightly annoyed that this crow nows her name "Yes I am. How did you know that?"

Dethwing drops his rasping voice. "Master told me."

Trillis frowns "who is your master and how did HE know my name?"

Dethwing grins malicously. "You know Master. He gave you things."

Trillis sips her water and than she looks like she might know what Dethwing is talking about "What did he give me? And what is your master's name?"

Dethwing points with a talon to the deep scar on the squirrel's shoulder. "He give you that..." He points to several other injuries. "And that... and that... and that."

Trillis holds up a paw. "Okay, okay, I know who you are talking about. So, why are you here? Are you here to kill me or som'thing?"

Dethwing clacks his beak. "Master does not leave loose ends lying about. Master wants to keep track of them. Master would kill you but Master is busy."

Trillis laughs "He will have a hard time killing this squirrel.... I hope. So you are his spy? Why doesn't he just let you kill me so that he does not have to?"

"Because Master doesn't want to risk me losing." Dethwing clacks his beak again. "But I have other ideas..." He suddenly hops up onto the bar and advances on Trillis.

Trillis laughs slightly as the crow comes closer. She sighs and slips off her stool and with a flick of her wrists she has he weapons in paw "Do we REALLY have to fight?"

"...No. But do I WANT to..." Dethwing laughs harshly. "Yes." He bobs and weaves from side to side, waiting for the squirrel to make the first move.

Trillis sighs again and mutters something about birds being stubborn. She stands ready and decides that if the bird is not going to move than she will not either.

So that's how she wants it. Dethwing suddenly cackles... (or maybe it's CAWckles?) and leaps at the squirrel, talons extended. Unless she has lightning reflexes, the crow's going to land gripping her shoulders.

Trillis tried to duck but the talons find there mark and She gives a yelp of pain but does not wast time in stabbing up at the crow.

Dethwing's thick feathers deflect the blade, however. He rakes at the squirrel's shoulder with his claws, hoping to reopen the wounds.

Trillis gives out a scream then she bites at Dethwings leg.

Dethwing howls and stabs savagely downward with his beak. Several other patrons of the tavern glance over; barfights aren't as common here.

Trillis keeps hold of the leg and bites down VERY hard. Than the beak hits. Her head now has a nice gash in it and she slumps to the ground, not dead but very hurt.

Darkwatcher caws triumphantly, then shrieks as the teeth hit him. "RAKARSKRAW!"

Trillis is still knocked out. Her head is bleeding nicely and she could bleed to death if she is not helped soon.

Dethwing crows victoriously again and flies out like a messenger of ill omen... Which he is.

Fortunately for Trillis, a nearby patron of the bar, a battlescarred but kind-looking mole, leans over and begins bandaging the downed squirrel, also applying herbs. " 'Old ee still naow, moi dearie. Oi'll soon 'ave ee up'n'walking aboawt."

Trillis groans but her eyes stay closed. "Wha' happened?"

The mole shakes his head, still speaking rustically. "Some gurt big narsty crowburd sloiced ee head open loike a ripe watermelon."

Trillis groans again "Great. Will I live?"

"Hurr noaw..." The mole looks concerned, but a bit relieved at the same time. "Oi surpose...as long as ee doan't go a-foightin' giant burdybeasts furr a whoile, ee prob'ly will..."

Trillis sighs and opens her eyes with a wince. "That is going to be hard"

The mole tightens the bandage a bit and stands back. "Thurr! All done naow. Now, moi dearie, Oi'd reccermend that ee find a noice, quiet place, maybe an inn or summat, away from 'eres where ee can keep ee head daown furr a whoiles."

Trillis touches her head gingerly. "But I can't leave here. My brother would be wondering where I am if I left. By the way, you have my thanks sir. I am Trillis."

"Whoi thank ee. Oi be called Gurt." The mole tuggs his snout politely and returns to the bar.

Trillis nods, "Thank you Gurt." She starts to stand and than she picks up her dirk and sheaths it again

"Ee take care, naow, dearie." Gurt orders an ale and seems to suddenly blend in with the other patrons.

Trillis waves. "That I will." she sighs and sits back down on a chair, "If I ever come in with that bird again I will do som'ting more than bite his leg."

Dethwing is back... for a moment. He pokes his head in. "And I will do more than peck head! I KILL and bring your bleeding heart to Master for Dethwing's dinner!" Then he's gone.

Trillis Laughs at the bird "I look forward the it. I hope my heart kills you!"

Gurt tugs his snout one more time. "If ee do ever needsa healerbeast... Just ask fer Gurt Longblade, moi dearie."

Part IV. October, the Sewers

John had been arrested for several minor crimes in the Summer. He spent over a season in prison until Autumn...

A few minutes later, a cloaked squirrel drops down a hatch in the roof, lands in the filth with a grunt, but does not let himself fall completely into it. He moves out of the light of the hole silently. "Huh... tha'll keep them busae for a li'le..." he mutters.

Murph jumps a bit and turns to face the newcomer. "Erm, 'ello?" he offers.

"Whae's thare?" John says as he turns to face the direction the voice came from. "Aeh, 'tis only... 'ellae, whae are ye?"

"Ahr..." The younger squirrel deliberates for a moment, then offers a paw. "M'naoime's McMurphy. Murphy J. McMurphy, t'be exact, bu' ye c'n call me Murph."

John looks at him, "Hmm... well, Ah'm John MacGarran... tell me, Murph, wot are ye daeing down 'ere?"

"Runnin' frum them," the oddly-accented lad replies, gesturing towards where the shouts and yells were coming from.

John says, "Aeh... sae then why are they chassin' ye?"

" 'Cos o' dis," Murph answers, holding up the crusty half that remains of the loaf of gritty bread that was scrawny to start with.

John looks at Murph with pity in his eyes ,"Ahh... ye stole... well, if Ah were ye Ah'd keep runin' cause thay donnae seem tha' happy..."

Murph nods a few times, cups a paw to his ears, then grins in relief. "Ach, they've run off the other weiy."

John says, "Hmm... well then, enjoy yer meal."

Murph shrugs after a moment. "Erm, okay, I guess..." He glances at his paw mournfully; he finished the bread without realizing it, and offers a sheepish grin. "Ach, it seems somebeast has stoled mah bread as well."

John says, "Heh..." his ear twitches "Say, d' these sewers connact again at som' point?" Murph's whiskers twitch and he taps one paw to his nose knowingly. "Yer right ther, mait. They all join up again sooner'r'lae-ter. I noo me way aroond the se'ers li'e naebeast else."

John says, "Aeh, well maybae it'll bae best if ye wen't the direction thay went..."

Murph blinks. "Why would that wirk, John maite?"

John says, "'Couse b' thae time thae beasts ge' 'ere, they'll won' look whare thay a'ready 'ave..."

Murph nods after a moment. "Pretty good idea..."

"Hmm...well, Ah'd get movin' soon..." John says, "If Ah were ye."

Murph nods. "Thanks--John." He sprints off down the tunnels, the crosshilt of the short sword sheathed on his back gleaming slightly in the murk

"Well, let's hope that they wont find ye!" he calls after Murph.

Part V. Advice & another Squirrel

Maybe it wasn't a good idea to come here. But Murph was bored, and the young squirrel had had enough of the oppressive shadows where he was hiding. Now he creeps through the entry area, unsure of what he's looking for, or where he's going, dodging from cover to cover and looking nervously in all directions.

Macari was quite surprised to walk out of the woods and find herself right in front of a rather large, impressive city such as Collinsel. Curious as always, she sauntered up to the gates and with little trouble was given entry. Now she's standing in the middle of the street, taking in the hustle and bustle around her, quite unsure of what she would like to do next.

Murph weaves between bystanders, checking his pockets and the pouch at his side every time anybeast inadvertantly jostles him. He doesn't want anything stolen--least of all what's in the pouch. He spots Macari and, on a whim, begins weaving his way over to her.

Macari is quite relaxed and when she sees the other squirrel headed towards her she turns to face him and waits for him to get closer before greeting him. "Afternoon." She says, and nods. "How're you?"

"Ach, I could be be'er, could be wairse, ye noo." Murph half-smiles. His accent is strange, Northern for sure, but not quite Highland or Border. "But I keep askin' mahsel', 'twere it really a guid idea to drop by this plahce?"

Macari holds her paws out and looks around. "I don't even know where I am, friend. Perhaps you could enlighten me and then I could give you the answer you're looking for." She grins.

"City o' Collinsel, marm," the other squirrel answers, smiling fully now. "Home o' the pickpockets, the ta'ern brawlers, th' fugitive woodlan'ers, an' the angry guards--oh, an' the grand auld suiw'rs."

Macari's expression crumples a bit, mostly out of consternation and the knowledge that she's somehow ended up in a place that seems...not so nice. "Is that why you were being so protective of your bag?" Instinctively she reaches up to touch the pommel of her weapon to make sure that it is still strapped across her back. "Is it as bad as it sounds?"

"Erm, somewha', I mus' admit," Murph laughs nervously and reaches for the pouch, just to assure himself that it's still there. "Depen's, tha'."

"Oh." Macari laughs and looks around. "Well, it doesn't look so bad from where I'm standing. Surely not /everone/ is a thief or brawler?"

Murph says, "Ach, not oot here in front o' th' guards, I suppose."

Macari laughs again. "Oh that's just fantastic." Still, sounds like fun. "Well then, where would you suggest that someone start if they wished to explore this dangerous city of yours?"

Murph shrugs. "It isnae mahne, marm, but I'd reccomend the Thorn an' Shadow fer food an' the lahke, fer a start...There's an arena, whoddyercallit, er... Colliseum'r'suchlike somewhere 'roond here, but I dinnae know what they do there...Ach, wherever ye go, marm, keep yer head doon and dinnae attract much attention."

Macari smiles slyly and ducks her head in acknowledgement of the warning. "I'll keep that in mind, friend. Thank you."

Murph nods. "Yer welcome, marm. Oh, an' if ye have tae run faer it... the suiw'rs be good fer losin' anybeast who may 'appen tae be pursuin' ye."

Macari wrinkles her nose but nods anyways. "Alright... I'll.. consider that." Sewers... ick. But just in case, "Uhm, how do I get in there?"

"Ach, there's gratin's, openin's, outlets an' that seuirt o' thing wherever ye look, marm." The younger squirrel grins.

Macari nods her head slowly, thoughtfully. "Alright, okay. Anything else I should know before I head off?"

Part VI. The November Hideout

Trillis sits in the middle of the room, cleaning her meager amount copper coins that she has acquired from the sewer. The day is over cast and cloudy, the clouds just waiting for the perfect moment to let loose with a torrent of rain.

There's a soft, hesitant knock at the door, followed by a muttered, "I hopes this be the right place..." That odd semi-Northern accent again.

Trillis looks up sharply and quickly grabs up her coins, stuffing them down her sleeve. They now make a suspicious clinking noise whenever she moves her arm. She creeps over to the door and opens it a crack. "Who's there?" She asks in a scratchy whisper.

"Ach, 'tis Murph," the voice answers. "D'ye remember me, marm?"

Trillis frowns and thinks a moment than shakes her head. "Nope, not at all. Your voice does sound a bit familiar though." It would seem that she was so absorbed in finding the coin the other day, that she completely forgot about the other squirrel. This is what she gets from getting hit over the head a couple million times.

Outside, the other squirrel glances over his shoulder nervously before whispering hurriedly, "In the sue-w'rs i' t'were, marm. Now d'ye think ye could open up the auld door an' let me in before the rats an' what-have-ye find me?"

Trillis thinks a moment, starting to recall the conversation. "Oh yes! You were the thief, right?" She opens the door all the way and the coins clink. "Come in, come in." She says with a smile.

Murph ducks in, muttering, "Ach, thief they called me but Ah'm nue thief." Settling down inside on a crate, he tips his hat to the other squirrel. "Thank ye, marm."

Trillis glances outside quickly before shutting the door behind Murph. She turn (with a clink from her sleeve) and nods. "You are welcome. So you are not a thief? What do you call taking bread?" She settles down on a crate across from Murph and looks at him curiously, propping her chin up on her fist.

Spreading his paws wide, Murph says, " 'unger, I suppose."

Trillis laughs out loud. "I suppose that is the reason to all of our thieving. I hope you are not expecting too much food from me since I hardly have enough for myself and my....other companions." She says nothing as to the identity of her companions.

Murph straightens his posture at this. "There be more of ye?"

Trillis nods. "Oh yes. There are..." She counts on her fingers. "There are five of us counting me." She is in one of her better moods, or she would be a lot more guarded with her information.

Murph's expression brightens. "Ach, that's grand, that is. Companions, ye say...Where be ye goin' tae?"

Trillis frowns. She already has said to much and she knows it, but she does not have the heart to not tell the younger squirrel nothing at all. "We are going... to the coast." She does not specify which coast and figures it is a safe answer.

"Ar, th' coast." Murph nods sagely. "I bin up there lang seasons ag'oo. Righ' cold n' wet up theres is about all I kin remember, thou'."

Trillis nods and leans back. "Yes, it IS very wet. How long where you there?" The time has come to squeeze the past from her guest!

"Ach..." Murph's footpaws don't quite reach the floor, and he swings them back and forth idly. "I dinnae know, but it werenae ver' long, Ah remember...I think that I had been lost or suchlike, ye knoo."

Trillis nods secretively. She is getting back into one of her moods. "Oh yes, I know. You said your name is Murph, true?"

Murph says, "Eh, actually m'name's McMurphy... Murphy J. McMurphy, bu' I've found 'tis easier t'leave it at Murph."

Trillis nods again, this time it is not at all secretive. "I see. Well, I am..." She thinks a moment. "You can call me Draft." She has never used a fake name before, but she is enjoying herself to the fullest.

"Ach, Draft." Murph gives a sly grin. "Me auld fatheir's best friend, 'e went by the name o' Draft."

Trillis looks quite shocked. "Are you insinuating that I knew your father?!"

"Nae, nae, marm, I only be sayin' tha' me fatheir, 'e liked 'is drink, so 'e did." Murph laughs, with a bit of bitterness in his tone.

Trillis's shock turns to horror. "Are you saying that I was or am a bar maid?! Why you cheeky little... BUSH!" Bush? Really? She could not think of anything better? "Just for that I should throw you out to the guards! Or take matters into my own paws and just kill you right now!" Of course she would NEVER kill the other squirrel, but she is mad and when she is mad... it's not pretty.

Murph raises his paws quickly. "Nae, nae, marm, sorry, didnae mean naught like that, I jus' meant that ma fatheir partial t'the occasional draft of ale naew an' then." In a cold, disillusioned mutter, he adds, "...an' more often then nae it 'twere now."

Trillis's madness boils down into nothing. "Oh... Sorry, I did not mean to be rude." She mutters something about jokes these days than raises an eyebrow "So he was a drunk?"

Murph's bright, keen eyes are cold and distant. "Bloody reight, tha'. Ach, a real slob 'e were, tae."

Sorrow fills Trillis's eyes. "I am sorry. Do you know if he still lives?"

"Bludy well 'ope 'e ain't too 'appy if 'e does," Murph mutters.

Trillis frowns. "He is your father. Are you sure you should be wishing bad luck on him?"

Murph scowls. "Ar, 'e deserves it all. 'e was a righ' moonster most days, an' that 'twere when he was sober, ye ken."

Trillis nods pityingly. "So what happened? Did you run?" She is curious now, her bright eyes showing it.

"Ach, 'e went off tae the auld tavern an' never come 'ome," Murph says, shaking his head resignedly. "Ach, auld Mammie died soon after, Ah believe thar was a plague'r'suchlike goin' aroond..."

Trillis shakes her head, her own voice turning bitter. "I hate plague. Hate it, hate it, hate it." At each 'hate' she slams her fist into her over paw.

Murph's eyes spark with the recognition of a beast who's been through similar torment. "Ach, 's braw evil stuff..."

Trillis sighs. "Last I heard beasts never live through it."

"Demn right," Murph mutters bitterly.

Part VII. November, The Mole

Murph, only visible as a dark outline in a sea of dim, gloomy drab gray is sitting in the darkness on a dusty shipping crate, looking in all directions--the darkness is starting to get to him. After a few minutes, a quiet, tentative humming slips through the oppressive silence, and finally, a soft, almost lamenting song. "Low lie/The fields/Of Athenry.... Where once we watched/The small free birds fly... Our love was on the wing/We had dreams, and songs to sing..." Then a sweet thrumming of some stringed instrument, and a conclusion of, "It's so lonely/ 'round the fields/Of Athenry..."

Rustle, rustle, rustle, goes the sound behind one to the crates that is farthest away from the door and in one of the darkest, most damp corner. Above the crate there can be seen two ears, one of a squirrel and the other of a... fox? That's odd.

The young squirrel blinks, although that can't be seen in shadows deep as this, and turns swiftly to face the noises. "Um...'ello?" He stashes something in a pouch hanging at his side, and reaches behind his left shoulder slowly. "Anybeast aboot?"

Suddenly two eyes pop up on the other side of the crate, the left one twitching now and then. Soon a voice can be heard, nearly yelling. "Of course there are beasts about! Are you blind?!?" Trillis, who was behind the crate, leaps on top of it, holding her rusty machete over her head and looking down and Murph with burning eyes. Yup. She is in a rather grumpy mood. Be warned.

In that same instant, a yell, and the other squirrel is up on his footpaws and there's a thick-bladed short sword in his paws. "Wot th'?!"

Trillis glares down at Murph and lowers her weapon only a little bit. "So, what brings you here?"

"I dinna 'ave naeplace else tae go, miz," Murph answers defensively.

Trillis sighs and lowers her machete a little more, but there is still plenty of acid in her eyes. "Oh? So you come HERE?! Did any of the guard follow you? We could all be killed!" She says nothing of all the times she has snuck out and almost gotten caught or why she and the rest of her group are hiding from the guards.

Murph backs away a bit, then thrusts out his jaw argumentatively. " 'ey, t'were eithaer that'r' 'ave mah head dec'ratin' the auld walltops on a bloody speike. I have nuewhere else tae go, eithair."

Trillis mutters darkly. "So you came here, wanting to escape the guards and put me and my groups life at risk?" Her voice is calm, almost soothing, but her eyes still burn. It would seem she is jumping to conclusions..... again.

"Ye 'ave swords an' suchlike," Murph argues. "An' ye noo 'ow te fight, d'ye noo?"

Trillis scowls. He is right and she knows it. "Fine. You have a point, but you still should be careful when coming here." With that she hops back behind her crate and again only her ears can be seen.

Murph glowers at Triss. "I was carefael."

The ears move in a nodding motion and she seems to be moving around behind that mysterious crate. "I am sure you were." All anger or anything else is gone from her voice as her moods swings yet again. "Can you tell me if you met any foxes out there?" The rustling starts up again.

Murph tilts his head. "Erm... Dinnae think sae... mebbe there were some with th' guards..."

Trillis nods and says distractedly. "Good, good. I should have guessed that." The rustling grows more intense than suddenly there is a victorious shout from behind the crate. "I found it!! I knew it was back here somewhere!"

"Wha'?" The other squirrel cranes his neck to see. "What is eet?"

Trillis pops up with a huge grin on her face. In her right paw is a rather old apple and she gives Murph a light push away from her crate, not wanting him to see into her lair. "I found dinner!" She says this with a happy sigh.

A voice comes from the darkness, a gruff bass tone. "Hurr, oi coulda made 'ee dinner, lass. Cooked-loike, oi moight add." Murph springs away from Trillis as he's pushed away.

Trillis ears perk as she hears the voice and she turns, smiling. "Why didn't you say so in the first place! Do you even have food to cook, though?" For the moment she has forgotten about Murph.

"Urr, a bit o'this an' a bit o' that, ee knaow." Murph meanwhile turns around to face the voice. "Who goes thei'?" he barks.

Trillis nods and quickly tosses her apple back behind the crate. "Very well. Will you need a big fire?" She turns to look at Murph, but lets the shadowed speaker speak for himself.

"Hurr, jus' smash up ee empty crate, miz, oi'll take care of the rest," Gurt answers. Murph decides not to do anything yet as 'Draft' seems comfortable enough with the unseen voice.

Trillis almost starts to protest about breaking up the crates, as no one is allowed to even TOUCH her crate. But then she decides not to and grabs another crate unlike her own and starts to kick at it and otherwise abuse it, trying to pull it apart, but failing. She glares at Murph. "You could help me, you know."

Murph, grinning, steps forward and thunks his blade into the corner of the crate and begins prying it apart.

Part VIII. A Fever

In the dark, the deep depressing dark a humble mealtime is occurring, smashedup barrels, crates serving for kindling as a warm pot of somethin'-or-other boils above the flames, Gurt tending it vigilantly; the young Murph at the edge of the lighting lovingly plucking the strings of his harp for a simple yet elegant melody.

Trillis is laying languidly across the tops of a few crates she pushed together, observing the two there beasts with the slightest hint of a frown. For once she is holding completely still and thinking straight.

While Gurt is completely and utterly focused on the fires, Murph pauses in mid strum, turning to look at Trillis. 'What be on yeir mind, Draft?" he asks, his thick, unusual accent changed with a hint of concern.

At first Trillis does not answer then she shakes her head and looks at Murph. "I was only thinking, is all. I tend to do that when I am bored." She smiles dryly and her voice is gentle. This is how she was before the fever.

Murph shrugs. "Matter o'fact, I have th' habit o'doin' such mesel'." He laughs just a bit, almost warily, as if worried that somebeast might just come along and take the laughter away from him forever.

Trillis smiles. "I hope we are all in the practice of thinking." When he laughs she seems to be taken somewhere far away then after a moment she comes back looking bittersweet. "You should laugh more." She says this a bit promptly.

Murph's eyes are distant for a moment as he says, "Used to laugh, I did-all th' time, marm. 'ere, tho', in Collin'seill, if ye laugh ye die."

Trillis nods. "You have a point, but you should still laugh." She grins then heaves herself off the crates. "I'm going to go see what I can steal. Be back here soon." With that she slips out the door.

Part IX. Harassing a Fox

A cloaked figure comes in through the door-way. Two eyes look this way and that from under the hood. "'Ello?" he says, faintly.

Trillis comes flying out from behind her crate and right at John, yelling "John! Where have you been?!"

John looks at her grimly. "Ah have been absent... Of what Ah was doin' Ah don't much want tae talk 'bout it..." he then says after a moment.

Trillis Frowns. "Oh come on. I think I have every right to know, since I have not slept in DAYS because of all the worry." A slight lie, yes.

"Uh huh," John says, "Well fine... Ah 'ad a fight with some vermin on thae street... they were friends o' th' rat where Ah got this cloak off..."

Trillis puts her paws on her hips, looking disapprovingly at John. "This is what comes of making enemies!" Of course she says nothing of the many enemies she herself has. "Are you hurt?" Her disapproval is replaced with concern.

John says, "Nae... just knocked out a few teeth of a stoat..."

Trillis nods quickly, dismissing the subject. "Did you bring any food back?" Her eyes glint hungrily.

John says, "Ahh... Nae again..."

Trillis looks quite crestfallen. "Really? There was nothing you could have at least stolen?"

John says, "Stolen... why?" he shakes his head "Nae."

Trillis looks at John with an annoyed glare. "Why? Because I'm hungry!" She stalks back to her crate and sits done with a moody sigh.

Outside the soft crunch of boots on gravel gradually becomes audible. From the rate the noise increases in volume, it seems the owner of the boots is headed this way. And that is confirmed: A moment later the noise stops, only to be followed by a rattling of the doorknob.

John hisses, "Bae quiet!" to Trillis, and stands still. His ear twitches and he turns around.

At the sound of the doorknob, Trillis quickly swings behing her crate and quietly picks up her hatchet. She leaps quickly back over the crates and stands by John, eyeing the door with a odd glint in her eye.

The door swings open in short order, and a slim figure appears in the sliver of light from outside. Varseine looks about the room, his pupils expanding until they are ringed by the thinnest ribbon of orange, and waits for his eyes to adjust. It doesn't take too long for that to happen, him being a cat. Then he shuts the door with a snap and begins to pull his coat from his frame. This allows his rapier t come into full view, as well as something smaller on his belt, with a nasty curved edge that glints in the meagre light.

John mutters, "Oh grea'..." and then asks the cat, "What dae ye want?" in an unfriendly tone.

Trillis grips her hatchet tighter and starts to walk to the side of the cat but not getting very close. For once she lets John do the talking.

Varseine had been distracted with his gloves, and namely, getting them off. He looks up at the voice, sliding his fingers from the material, and his face darkens immediately. Well now, and here he thought this was a peaceful city. "And a good evening to you, sir." He inclines his head mockingly, then tilts it to regard Trillis. "What I want is none of your concern. In fact a better question is why two squirrels such as yourselves, sharing species with the royalty of this fair city, would feel inclined to secret themselves away to such a place in order to conspire."

John says, "Hmm... why we are here is none of yore concern ether, cat."

Trillis laughs humorlessly. "You think this place is peaceful? I am sorry, but that is quite wrong. Have you seen some of the gangs around here?" Her voice takes on a conversational tone. Trillis frowns. "Wait. This place has a king and queen? And they are squirrles?" She looks a bit horrified, but does not say why.

Varseine mouth is pinched, distaste etched out in all of his features. This is one of those rare times he is glad not to count himself as a woodlander. Else he would be counted with beasts such as these. "From what I was told by the guards at the gate." He says, trying to keep his tone mild. Eyes like embers sweep across the room once more, becoming fixed on a wooden chest the size of his head.

The reason for Trillis's horrifiedness soon becomes apparent as she mutters to herself. "Squirrels running a place like this. You'd think they would have better sense." She shakes her head and in the dim light misses the look on the cats face. She quickly becomes hostile again. "Why did you come here? Did anyone send you?"

John looks to were the cat's eyes are fixed, "Sae thats what yer lookin' fore..." he says to himself.

Varseine looks first at John, then at Trillis, then decides he cares to answer neither of them, he turns away. His coat is folded over an elbow, his gloves are tucked into his belt, and paws thus freed, he begins to pick at his clothing and weapons until every piece is in perfect order. Only then does he approach the chest, strides long and swift and purposeful.

Trillis scowls as the cat walks toward the chest. She takes a few leaping bounds and grabs his shoulder in her weaker grasp. Sure it's just a box, but this feline has not proven himself safe!

John picks up his spear and runs after her. Just in case if the cat attacks.

Varseine twists, quick as a whip, and glares. There is nothing but contempt in his eyes, looking first at the paw on his shoulder, then following the line of her arm down to her face. "A thousand apologies if I'm being presumptuous," he says, in a voice that makes it clear he is sorry for nothing, "but I rather thought we'd decided that our respective actions and motives meant nothing to eachother. Unhand me." And with that he bats her paw away, placing a finger on her collarbone in warning. The cat is clearly angry at the presence of these two beasts, but so far, at least, he has not seen fit to unsheath his claws.

John walks over to them. "Trill, Ah think it may b' best tae listen tae 'im, it would."

Trillis narrows her eyes at the cat. "Get out." She glances at John and shakes her head. "...No! He marches in here expecting complete submission everyone! But I won't compile!" With that she swings her arm over the intruders arm and pushes down, pinning it to herself. She then twists sharply to the side, hoping she did something painful.

Varseine's eyes narrow at John, and he actually smiles, although there is nothing nice about the expression. "Ah, for once somebeast talks some sense. You know, for all you woodlanders like to wax philosophical about holding the moral high ground, you are-!" he interrupts himself with a rather undignified cry as his arm is wrenched behind his back, the grip of the shorter squirrel forcing him to stoop at an uncomfortable angle, else pop his humerus from its socket. "Ngk! Ah!" He grits his teeth, his free paw groping blindly for the flaying knife at his hip. "Who is it exactly that wants submission?" He is able to spit.

Trillis did that as a rather spur of the moment and in the proces dropped her hatchet. She quickly lets go of the arm and dashes for her crate where she has her two other weapons hidden. If she can only make it to the other side of the wooden box, she will be semi safe.

Varseine lets loose a sigh of relief that is a little too close to a squeal to be to his prides liking, but all the same, now he is free. He straightens and rotates his arm, watching the squirrel retreat with baleful eyes. Fingers flex, and then his left paw finally takes hold of the knife. It is a wicked thing, the blade curved and convex and the metal rusted in large spots. Or at least one hopes it is rust. The tom makes no move to follow, merely watches Trillis closely. "Of all the unmannerly, graceless, masculine maids..." he mutters to himself.

Trillis leaps over her crate and lands on the other side. She casts about until her fingers fall on the hilt of her rusty machete. She grabs it and holds it in her right paw, but instead of attacking the cat, she slips down and sits with her back to the crate. An odd thing to do at a time like this, but in her slightly crazy mind there is a reason for everything.

When it becomes clear to the cat the Trillis isn't going anywhere, Varseine scoffs and turns once more towards the chest. The knife is kept clutched in one paw for safety, but it seems the last thing he wants to do is fight. He lifts the lid of the box, and lets out an exasperated hiss; inside is a pile of proclamations, long outdated, and in no apparent order.

Trillis chooses this time to leap up and doge around the box. She stays a few feet away from the cat, but she keeps her weapon in front of her, ready to stab if needed, but by the way she holds the blade, it can be told she is not used to using it. "Why did you come here? I want an ANSWER!"

Varseine turns narrowed amber eyes upon the squirrel. Not much can be said for Varseine's strength or skill, or the length of the knife's blade versus Trillis', but the comfortable way he wields it shows it is oft used. "Why did I come here?" He is all snark even in a situation such as this. "I did not know I am to be made to answer for my actions every time I wish to travel between public places. But seeing as you're half mad, and I have no mind to contract rabies from you, very well, you may know that I am here to conduct research." He grabs a fistful of the papers and brandishes them at the squirrel, pieces fluttering to the ground, brittle as autumn leaves.

Trillis gives a hash laugh. "Mad?! Me? I think you have it all wrong, cat." She takes a step back as she looks at the papers, examining them with slight interest. She takes her time in doing this, which may very well be a bit mistake. "Research? For what? Fleas? If so you are in luck, because this place is crawling in them. But I don't see why you had to come here for fleas, because you certainly seem to have enough of them yourself." She seems quite proud of herself for throwing this insult.

Varseine lifts his upper lip in a sneer, withdrawing his paw. He shuffles the parchments into a neat stack and places them on top of the pellmell pile, arms then folding over his chest. "Clearly, you are some sort of literary figure. My apologies. I do hope you took pains not to strain yourself in producing that gem of wit. I will repeat myself, Miss, my motives are none of your concern."

Trillis smiles dryly. "It was not painful at all. I am sure you could do worse." She now frowns. "I am afraid it is my business what you are doing here. It could concern me and my friends safety and if they are hurt then someone is going to pay."

Varseine looks at her for a long, silent moment, his eyes orange as ever, and looking as if they are about to catch fire. But after his anger is spent in the chill of this building, he leans forward on his knees and pinches the bridge of his nose, massaging away tiny knots of muscle. "Have you ever heard of Bardouin the Bold?"

Trillis lowers her weapon some and shakes her head. "No. I don't think so. Did he send you?"

Varseine straightens again, his paw still on his face. He lets out a long-suffering sigh, slipping the knife back into a loop on his belt. "Didn't it used to be that Children were meant to be seen and not heard? Instead you hide and dare to ask me a string of ever more stupid questions before you have the full picture. I daresay I am disappointed in whoever raised you. Bardouin the Bold has been dead nearly as long as I've been alive, dear girl. Killed in this very city, and it caused quite a controversy, too. And yet everybeast here knows him just as well as you do."

Trillis eyes flare up into a mangled anger, hurt, pain as more than one memory flashes through her mind. Her voice in controlled and calm as she says. "First you call me a child. I admit I am young. Then you insult my mother, father and other family. You call my questions stupid all because you are here looking for a dead beast?! You are a rotten apple out the whole bunch if I do say so myself and don't 'dear girl' me! For the last time get out." She is deadly serious. Anything that may have indicated her as insane before is gone.

Varseine's ears flatten against his skull. He drops his coat on top of the crate that serves as table for the small chest. If he feels any regret for saying such unkind things, he does not show it. The knife is drawn again, this time in the right paw, and after some consideration, her fingers the hilt of his rapier as well. "I call your questions stupid because they are. If you are to live in a city, you are to apprise yourself of its goings on, else you are of no more use to it than the weeds that grow between its cobbles. I am not the one who springs on unsuspecting passers by, jumping from shadows of crates, greeting them with sword and spear and hostility." He begins to advance towards her, using his full height to it's best effect. "And I do not follow the orders of an urchin."

Trillis takes a deep breath, it takes all inside of her not go crazy as she refuses to answer anything just said to her... that last comment. "Fine. Don't take orders from me. See what I care and I will not fight you." She clenches her teeth then, as a final sign that she will not fight this brute she drops her blade and crosses her arms. At this point she is not sure what the cat will do, and in all truth she is not only angry, but very afraid. It shows on her face in small ways: the bite of her lip here a raise of an eyebrow there.

The knife is slipped back in it's place with a small 'snk,' and the cat turns just as quickly as he had advanced. It seems he has a mind only for his quest. The paw is removed from the hilt of his rapier as if it were flaming hot. Truth be told he is relieved to not have to draw it, and be proven absolutely untrained in the art of battle. He spares the younger squirrel no other glance, but he seems to care about her at least enough to settle her mind, in his own, caustic way. "I could not care in the slightest as to what you are doing here. In fact, I find the idea of ruffians taking shelter in uninhabited building of so little note that I wouldn't even think it worth mentioning in passing to the local bootblack."

Trillis shows her relief only once he has turned. She picks up her blade and tosses it behind her crate then grabs her hatchet and gives it a learning throw. It thwacks into her crate as she says coldly. "You're too kind, I am sure." She goes over to her crate and volts over it, reaching around and grabbing the hatchet. She puts her weapons in order and covers them with her scrap cloak before leaning back and pulling out the small amount of money she has collected. She starts to count it over and over again, the clinking like a dripping sink. As she counts she think about the words just exchanged and, much to her annoyance and shame, her eyes start to well up with liquid. She is now very glad of the crate coverage so the cat does not have to witness the rather pitiful goings on behind the crate.

The sounds of rifling and shuffling slows, the cat's ears turning towards the crate. Trillis' sarcastic quip gets no reply, nor the ways she plays with her weapons, but the clinking of coin seems to be something the cat is trained to notice. He says nothing still, however, intent to ignore this storeroom's inhabitants. He is on a mission in this city, and he will not allow himself to forget it. But there are so many papers here, and the longer he stays, the less welcome he feels. After a while he stops and plucks his gloves from his belt.

The clinking slows in speed as Trillis thinks. By this time the tears have cleared by sheer force of will. She can cry later when there is no one to observe her. She also seems set on ignoring the cat, that is, until he gets his gloves. When he does this her ears perk and an icy smile spreads across her lips. "Leaving so soon? Or have I miss interpreted your actions?"

Varseine pulls the gloves on, stretching his digits into each fold of leather. They make a noise like a rope stretching taut. Then he takes the papers, in several thin stacks, folds them in half, and stuffs each stack carefully in concealed pockets on the inside of his coat. "It would be considerably more comfortable to review these by candle. I doubt anybeast would miss these," he says as he sweeps the thing over his shoulders. Once it is on, he must pluck and pull at it until all the wrinkles fall away, and the same treatment is applied to shirt, vest, even gloves. "And so, regrettably, I must take my leave of you." He tips an imaginary hat, a smirk hinting at the cruelty of his jape. "But consider me duly illuminated by your wise words.

Trillis's icy smile stays where it is as she meets his eyes. "Go riddence to you. I hope you die a thousand deaths" She says these words almost pleasantly and if one would not know there meanings one would think she is bidding a friend good-bye. She waggles her fingers at him and says, "Tootaloo!" with a rather gruesome smile.

Part X. Winter, Dancing

"I stood here once before, with my head held in my hands, for all I had known of this place, I could not understand" The strains of music fall into a light humming coming from Trillis's throat as she whisks around the room, apparently doing a waltz with an air partner.

And an accompanying voice is raised, but it's another song. "...all along the banks of the royal canal," it finishes after a brief verse.

Trillis stops humming and dancing and looks around, slightly annoyed. "Ahem! If you are planning to sing, would you please let me know before you start?" She sighs and retreats back to her crate. Dancing lessons are over for today!

"Um, saerry," comes a mumbled apology.

Trillis waves a dismissing paw above her crate. "No matter. It's not like its a sin to sing or something." Suddenly there is an annoyed muttering from behind the crate and then a loud 'thunk' sound.

"Um, are ye alrigh'?" Murph inquires.

There is a sharp yelp from behind the crate and Trillis quickly leaps over it. Once she is on the other side of the crate she peeks tentatively back over it while answering Murph. "Of course, I've never been better. Do you like spiders?"

"Nae' partic'larly, marm," Murph says. "I take it ye dinnae?"

Trillis glance at him. "I don't mind them when they come in singles, but when one hits a nest of the little monsters with one's hatchet......." She glance back behind the crate. "It's not pretty, especially when they are the big kind."

"Ach, use fire, marm," Murph says breezily. "They'll sca'er like ash, they weel."

Trillis frowns. "Are you joking?! Fire will burn the crate and everything else I have hidden back there!..... Then again..... Fine, do you have a piece of wood and a rag?"

"Arh, the wood's everywhere, and..." RRRRIP! A strip of cloth is tossed to the squirrel.

Trillis catches the cloth and nods her thanks before rummaging around and coming up with a long stick of wood. She ties the cloth to one end of the wood then looks expectantly at Murph. "You wouldn't happen to have any fire, would you?"

"Um, I dinnae, now that ye mention it, marm," Murph mutters.

Trillis looks downcast as he says this and she chucks the makeshift torch over her shoulder. There goes that idea. I suppose I will just have to wait for them to settle down." She starts to pace back and forth then she gets an idea. "Do you want to go steal supper? It's getting dark so the guards will not know us as well."

Part XI. Winter

Murph sits on a crate quietly, humming to himself. It's quiet here, and he's more than a little bored. He whistles for a few minutes until he tires of it.

The door swings open eerily and ragged figure steps in. The figure is Trillis and she sways slightly in the doorway, slowly taking another step in. She is holding her right paw tightly to her upper left arm and her paw seems amply bloodied. But one wound should not be able to cause her to be this unstable.

Murph springs to his footpaws and runs to Trillis. "Are ye alright, marm? Wot 'appened, Draft? Wh-who...?"

Part XII. Endnote & Further Logs

How Trillis was injured is unclear (it is suspected it may have been the aftermath of a bar fight, as she was want to take part in such things), but she recovered.

Some time after these events the squirrel Murph disappeared leaving John & Trillis still on the wrong side of Collinsel's Law. The pair in the subsequent seasons spent their time gathering enough money and supplies to survive and eventually depart the city & eastern shore, intending to return to Mossflower in a fine summer - but Redwall Abbey was held by vermin. When John & Trillis finally returned, they encountered a patrol of such vermin who were prowling about the Dirt Road.

• An unfortunate meeting on the blasted Road, Marek's Revenge TP, June 2014