I Have Chosen Well
I Have Chosen Well
~~//~~ A Tale of [[Order_Redwall_0%25E2%2580%259D|Redwall]]~~//~~
Starring:
Flicktail, Abbey Champion
Magramba, Travelling Warrior
Aden, Wandering Acrobat
Rogir and other vermin spoofs, Provided by Benar
Marshank:
The horde occupying the old fortress of Marshank is locked away behind the walls, Flicktail is inside somewhere, but he did manage to get a message out to Magramba and Aden that shortly after sunset he would arrange for the side gate to be opened. Flicktail should hopefully be meeting Magramba and Aden at the gate to help lead them through.
The silver squirrel slinks along beside the warrior, thankfully armed with a set of 'loaner' knives - 'borrowed' from one of the beasts who were kind enough to pursue them after Aden was sprung free. It may be a mismatched set, crude and hardly ideal for throwing - but she is a skilled beast, and will work with what she has...Until she finds what greedy, ugly mug inside those walls is using /her/ weapons. Then things will /really/ be cooking. "He said this gate, right?" She whispers, crouching low as they make their approach.
There is a small, little used gate in the wall, though normally heavily guarded; the dynamic duo hear the sounds of thuds and sliding against the thick door, and the sound of an iron bolt, rusted with age being drawn back, and ominous sound as there is gentle, soft groaning on the other side of the gate.
"I don't see any other side gates," Magramba whispers as they make their stealthy approach, the sword of Martin shoved bandolier-style through a belt on his back, an adopted blade at his hip. "There he is," he points out as noises emanate from behind the small gate.
A few minutes later the gate slides open just a few inches and there is space for Mag and Aden to slip through and join the fox. The fortress is dark and quiet; there are not many sentries on patrol or out and about most of the horde are asleep. The leader is living it large in the main keep though: his rooms are the large hall. The huge stone windows full of light and noise... he is in there...
Immediately upon making his way inside, Magramba pulls the sword free from its place on his back to hand it back over to the fox, perfectly content to use the cheap vermin steel currently strapped to his waist. "Here you go, Flick. Took good care of it for you." The squirrel grins cheekily in the darkness, pleased with his ability to borrow the sword without plunging the universe into chaos. A measuring eye turns towards the keep. "Looks like old Rogir's throwing us a welcome-home party," he comments dryly. "I've half a mind to oblige him. What do you two say?"
The squirrels are answered by the gate and all of its sounds, which come in various levels of ominous. "Lovely." Aden sighs - she really isn't in a hurry to find herself back behind those walls. Her last stay was not very comfortable - atrocious turn-down service. 1/5 stars. Silent as a shadow, she slides through the gateway after Magramba, ears twisting towards the sounds of revelry inside. "Hey Flick." She flashes the fox a grin - one which becomes a more savage smirk at the other squirrel's urging. "I even brought a gift." She pats those knives, strapped at her hip.
Flicktail greets his friends with a grim look. The fox's head is heavily bandaged where he got cracked on the skull. His inky black paws do not show the blood, but beside the gate are several vermin, 2 rats, a stoat and a very fat fox, a red pool of liquid in the moon light growing as it flows from the now cooling carcasses. Aden's throwing knife she gave to him is in his paw, though he did not use it for throwing. "These beasts were drunk, and bein’ rude," he says softly.
Do not get drunk and say rude things around Flick. Magramba makes this mental note. "Alright, well, what's done is done. Let's focus on what we came here for." Getting rid of Rogir. "Getting my sword back. Flick, any idea where it would be? The armory?"
Well, that is one knife - now to track down the other three. Aden's ears wilt back a little further as she catches a good look at the fox's face. "Dang, Flick. Alright, that's - uh - a good start?" She tries to sound encouraging, given the circumstances - a paw goes to clap him on the shoulder, but she thinks better of it, and it closes on thin air before falling back to her side. There really isn't anything encouraging she can offer - it's only going to get worse from there. "Greater good, hun." She reminds him, gently, as she casts a sideways glance at Mag. This is going to be a rough night, isn't it? "My sword as well. And knives - the rest of them, at least."
Flicktail looks up and moves the body of the very fat fox. The beast groans softly, not quite dead yet as his life blood flows away. Flicktail removes a bandolier of knives and two swords. As he takes Martin's Blade, he hands each beast back their supplies and weapons. "I am a bad fox, that Rogir told me to melt these down and pour th’ hot metal over yer bodies... I disobeyed ‘im." He gives Aden a wink.
A clank of iron, a pair of footsteps, and a half drunken voice calls out. "Heeeeey fox, why aren’t ya at the chiefs shindig! Rogir is askin fer ya! Why don'tcha..." The stout rounds the corner, holding up a lantern and stares at the squirrels and then the fox and bolts, running back toward the block house.
"Well, I guess that's our invitation," Magramba mutters, grasping his sword firmly by the hilt and tearing off after the stoat. "Come on!"
Oh! Those! Grabby paws reach out towards the weapons, Aden's eyes lighting up. "/Thanks/, Flick!" She whisper-hisses, and /literally/ hugs them to her chest - very carefully - and is in the process of re-strapping all the precious babies to her belt when a voice interrupts them. She doesn't need Mag's invitation - she is already racing after the stoat. She rears a paw back, clutching one of her knives, and flings it after him, aiming between the shoulder blades. It's always fun when they run.
Flicktail says a very hushed "Go where I told you, don't be afraid, I will take you home," before rushing after his comrades, his tail flicking as he moves. "Damned stoats.”
The stoat goes down with a choked out, gurgling cry; his lantern hits the ground, bounces and smashes... oil and flames spilling over a pile of half rotten mouldy straw! It starts to ignite, the revelry in the blockhouse is still ongoing.... now is their time. The windows are nearby; one quick leap, the flames behind them, and they will be inside and take Rogir and his cronies by surprise.
A better distraction could not be asked for. Magramba probably would have set a fire himself if this one hadn't been so conveniently provided. An unfortunate stool goes sailing through one of the low windows and the warrior squirrel goes bounding in after it, his sword held at the ready. The room is empty. "Oh. Well then." Stepping forward, he eases the door open, peering down the hallway. Mostly empty other than the furniture.
The stoat out of the way, Aden skips past the chaos and throws herself through the window behind Mag, throwing a quick glance over her shoulder to check in on Flicktail before she hits the floor, inside. "Oh." She echoes, straightening as she casts a nervous glance around the empty hall.
With the hall empty the only course of action is to open the door and step through into the damp dark corridor. A staircase to the left winds up to a pair of double doors into the much larger hall. The doors are partially open, revealing Rogir and his cronies celebrating.
"I can hear them up that staircase," Magramba whispers, nodding and pointing in its direction. "Acorns to apples that's where Rogir is." His fingers wrap experimentally around the grip of his sword, unnervingly dissimilar from that brief encounter with Martin's. There's something worryingly unsatisfying in its substance. "Stay behind me. We still have the element of surprise, and those outside will be too caught up with the fire to deal with us. Whoever's in that room right now is who our fight will be with." Taking a last deep breath, the warrior shoves the door abruptly ajar, sending a wave of silence over the revelry. He does not wait for them to react, instead hacking into the face of the nearest member, still seated, with a vengeful snarl. They stole his friend. They strung her up. They pillage and plunder. They deserve whatever's coming.
"Right behind you." Aden mutters, racing up the stairs after Mag. She watches him from the corner of her eye - he seems...Off? Somehow? She shakes it from her mind - because everything is about to hit the fan. Without another choice, she flings herself through the door and, immediately, starts to fire those daggers off - she burns through the three stolen ones, each finding itself a nice, new home in a neck, belly, and chest (respectively).
The hall erupts into uproar as first Magramba then Flicktail and then Aden charge in; vermin are cut down where they are standing or sitting. The party turns into roars of outrage as Rogir comes out of his chair and hurls an over-handed dagger he was using to slice up the bird on the table before him right at Aden. The vermin in the hall shout and weapons leave their sheaths. There are about thirty beasts in the hall all told, though four are now dead thanks to the Redwallers’ initial charge. The ferret at the end of the room is tall and thin, his fur a dark cinnamon brown with a sharp mask across his eyes and rings around his tail. He is dressed in rich brocaded velvet and looks angry as he draws another dagger, shouting at his beasts to form up.
Flicktail Is already coated in some blood, and he grips his fabled blade in his paw, the red running between his fingers as he tightens his grip about the pommel, and he snarls. "How dare you take dibbuns and make them slaves!" Hence the reason the fox seems so unrepentant as he raises the sword in a high ready position, snarling at any vermin close enough as he cries out: "REEEEDDDDDWAAAAAALLLL!" His blade slices in arcs, hoping to drink deeply of vermin blood this day.
The sheer number of vermin in the hall compared to the tiny band of three is concerning, and Magramba makes every effort to level the playing field before things have a chance to solidify into a real fight. The warrior lunges forward past an improvised club, his sword standing out the back of his attacker before pulling it free and chopping down into the clavicle of the next, blood slipping from the end of his blade as he makes his way further into the room, a butcher in a slaughterhouse. His next victim has a sword out, but only half-way, and the loss of his innards keeps it there. By now the vermin have had time to fall back and arm themselves with whatever weapons are handy, and his easy victories are likely over.
Aden isn't a warrior: she's an artist, and quickly becomes swept up in the flow of the chaos. While her own style is a little more elegant than her compatriots - twisting her way through the maroon tangle of limbs and carnage. Someone elbows her in the face as she ducks beneath a different blow, and she straightens just in time to see a knife thrust her way. She hits the ground in a tumble, sliding beneath a table as the knife grazes over her back - it hurts, but it isn't a serious wound. She yanks the blade from the ground. There are so /many/ of them! How can they take on so many? The silver squirrel grits her teeth and slides out from beneath the table, jamming Rogir's dagger through a stoat's ankle - savagely flooring him and cutting his throat from behind. "Heads up, Flick!" The dagger leaves her paw, burying itself through the temple of a rat as he raises his club behind the fox. She is pushed back towards the wall as their hosts catch their bearings, struggling to contend with such a sizeable opposing force.
The horde draw back, surrounding the high table and Rogir. The ferret sneers down at the party and shakes his head. He hisses orders and one of his rats ducks back and vanishes; a few seconds later a tarnished bell starts to clang an alarm. "You will all die here! My beasts are coming. I have no need of warriors as slaves. You will perish; three of you against my horde? You’ll be food for the gulls come morning, and then mayhap I will visit your precious Abbey and all the lovely dibbuns you are so famous for having."
Flicktail blinks as the beast with the club sprouts a throwing dagger from his eye, and nods grimly to Aden, giving her a salute with the sword. He then thrusts his sword deep into the gut of a wildcat, twisting it before placing his footpaw on the beast’s hip to pull the blade out. He then turns to Rogir and sneers right back. "Shows wot you know, Blunt-fangs! Th’ birds be my friends and would never eat me! ‘sides, I never expected to get close to a coward like you wot can't do his own fightin’.... No matter, Marshank will be empty shortly.”
Is there a plague no one told Magramba about? The squirrel looks askance at the Champion, unsure of how Marshank is going to get so empty so shortly, but there are more pressing matters to deal with. "We need to take care of him before the whole army arrives," the warrior hisses to his friends, stepping forward to menace the nearest vermin with his sword, prodding out at the guard.
"What /is/ it with you villain-types an' /dibbuns/?" Aden growls, ripping her sword free and slashing a wild arc, back and forth in front of her. "/Seriously/, it's unnatural. What good do -" She spins out of the way of a blow and tries to separate herself from her cornered position, but is only driven back again. "- do /babies/ do? Huh? It's just inefficient you /creep/!" She struggles to shout above the din, and lashes at an ermine, the blade slicing through her thigh. But it /does/ give her an opening to throw herself further into the fray - hopefully that fire slows the rest of the horde down, but given their consistent misfortune, that doesn't seem to be a likely luxury. Is it weird that she likes the ferrets outfit? "DIBS ON HIS VEST!"
The vermin are on guard now, the stoats Magramba is menacing parry, three of them pushing the squirrel back, one of them managing to nick the back of Mag's paw lightly with their blade. They don't push forward though, holding their formation around their chief. He smirks at Flicktail's rage and shakes his head. "Coward? How quickly you traitors and lesser beasts throw that word around. It's not cowardly to stand back and let my army kill you. You are nothing, lesser creatures, sod of the lower orders. It makes no sense for me to fight you personally when I can simply overwhelm you." Outside can be heard the sound of voices raised in worry and panic, then the shouts of fire spring up, and Rogir turns and frowns out a window, cursing. "So you call me coward, yet set fire to my fortress? Well... I do so hope you won't mind whilst we depart... I'll leave the slave barracks however. Do you wonder how long it'll take them all to burn to death? Or you can charge me now."
Flicktail chooses to "charge him now." Being larger than the squirrels, the fox's bigger body lunges into his defending beasts, though he is only looking to slip past the ring of beasts, not bash into them, he tries a kind of forward roll toward their legs as he gets close,) a move he learned from Aden, intending to bring him through with his sword at the ready for the evil leader.
The slice across the back of his paw draws a wince of pain from Magramba, but that's all. He's just got his sword back and he's not going to let go of it now. Taking on three at once is not preferable, but nothing about this situation is, and when he takes that lick across the paw he uses the opportunity to step into the stoat's space, bringing his sword down hard to take off his arm at the joint. This foe disarmed, literally, he twists his blade back across his body to block an incoming swing, shoving it up and away from himself, stepping again to drive a hard, bleeding fist into this one's belly, bending him over. The third stoat lets out a yell as he swings over his buddy's back, and Magramba blocks this as well, for the most part, but a biting cut manages to work its way into his upper arm nonetheless. "Get him, Flick!"
They seem to be going with Option B - and Aden is fine with that. The squirrel disentangles herself from the ermine she incapacitated, and launches herself after Flicktail - oh, would you check out that /roll/! The squirrel would have applauded in a different setting. Scrambling between slashes and batting back at the beasts as they pursue her, she lets loose her two remaining knives in quick succession - she is only trying to clear a path for the fox, trying anything more heroic right now would probably get her killed. An anxious glance is passed back toward Mag, but he's just casually taking out three beasts at a time, so there really isn't any need to worry. Something nicks her across the calf, and she turns to bury her sword up through the chin of a ferret before spinning back towards Rogir's band of protectors, finishing off the beasts that Flick has already wounded.
Sadly for Flicktail, Rogir has a lot of loyal soldiers. Flicktail is met by three beasts at once pushing him backwards. The ferret slips backwards, laughs, and throws a dagger at Aden as she spins to disband the beast Flick wounded. The blade sinks into her shoulder, not an incapacitating wound but a nasty one. Then Rogir hurls another dagger at Flicktail, nicking his ear, and then the ferret is off backwards with four of his elite guard and they are out a window and swarming up the ladder beyond. Magramba however has had more luck; the beasts between him fall back to hound Flicktail and Aden and cover the window but this leaves the squirrel with a clear route to another window.
Flicktail snarls, and is not above BITING, as his fangs seek the throat of one vermin, Martin's blade trying to slash at the other vermin. It's a wild swing toward vermin, sure his friends are not in the path, just trying to "cleave" something. These vermin will learn the price of being loyal to a ferret like that... He attempts to slice one ferret into 2 half ferrets.
After a brief moment of coming to terms with just how much glass he's destroyed today, Magramba chucks the nearest party stool through the window and jumps up after it, glad of his boots as he hops nimbly through the shard-covered frame onto the rooftop and follows up a different ladder hoping to at least get onto the platform above before he has to start fighting again. Making the top before he's set upon, the warrior pulls his sword upright into a defensive stance, calling out before he can even take stock of the situation. "Some warlord who won't even fight a single /squirrel!/" A cheap shot to the ego is the oldest play in the book, but it's well-loved for a reason.
"Son of a -" Aden grits her teeth, stumbling backwards as the knife sinks into her flesh. Her sword switches paws, and she continues to try and pursue the ferret with dogged, and now very bloody, determination - but she simply cannot. With a roar, half in pain and half in fury, she yanks the knife from her shoulder and flings it right back out that window - she hears it make purchase into something fleshy, but can't be sure who or what. Just thinning the ranks as best she can, until Mag bursts out that window. "Get him." She mutters, clutching her shoulder to staunch the flow of blood.
The vermin before Flicktail and Aden are falling back, their savage, wild, feral assault pushing them backwards and opening the way to the windows as they seek to flee. Up on the roof, however, Rogir turns around, the five beasts with him arrayed along the roof top as flames start to lick their way up the wooden side of the main building. He raises a horn bow, draws it, and fires at Magramba. "I will fight you, squirrel, but always on my own turf; now kill it!" He draws another arrow and takes aim as his five guards charge Magramba.
Flicktail sees Magramba go out the window, spitting, as he HATES the taste of b\vermin in his muzzle. A bit intimidated by height, he tries to get to Aden. "Let’s see if we can get to the roof and outflank that sissy ferret!" he cries to Aden, attempting to slip an arm under her to support her.
Oh, a bow. Magramba did not expect that. Probably because it just sort of appeared. Rogir must like to shoot arrows on the roof like a businessman driving golf balls. It's short range and anyone who's practiced with a bow could hardly be expected to miss, and Rogir must be good at something to have all these vermin following him. The warrior blinks as the arrow crawls through the air, unable to move out of its path but unable to look away. It wriggles toward him, black fletches slowly spiralling as it streaks slowly closer to his face. He drags his head, heavy and slow, to the side, but he can't move fast enough. The side of the arrowhead drags lazily across his cheek, splitting the skin wide to let blood run, hot and sticky, down into the furrow of one of his scars. The whole event takes place in a moment, and then the squirrel is rushing forward to meet the guards, his movement making him hard now to hit, especially with their bodies to shield him. His first swing sends the attacker's spear wide, the next divides his ribs from his entrails. As the guard crumbles, the squirrel from the North is already on to the next, beating his blade into his opponent's so hard that it carries into his body.
She can hear the ruckus on the roof, and Aden starts to panic. She has to /get/ to him - she's no hero, she's here for support and she can't do that down here! "Flick, it's my arm, don't worry about me." She bats the fox away, distractedly, and throws herself after the fleeing vermin, burying her sword into a fox's back and climbing over him to rush the window. "Let's go!" She leaps out the window and ascends, hastily and with only one paw, up the ladder after them. She is just in time to see this /arse/ shoot her friend in the face - and that just won't DO. With a growl, she drags herself onto the roof and attacks the nearest guard - a heavyset stoat. She has the element of surprise and a singular goal in mind: thin them out. The stoat goes down, wounded but alive - until his momentum carries him over and off the rooftop. His screaming ends abruptly.
Rogir smiles, dancing back along the length of the roof. The horn bow is small and packs a punch. It could reach anywhere in the compound, especially the slave barracks or the grounds. From the look of the stool set off to one side, that is what Rogir likes to do: sit on the roof and shoot arrows at his prisoners for fun and sport. He draws the bow and fires it at Magramba again! It'd have hit too, but then Flicktail and Aden arrive and their assault means one of Rogir's guards gets the arrow in the back. He curses and nocks another arrow and fires at Flicktail, once, twice… two arrows leaping through the dark toward the fox! The fire is taking hold, flames illuminating the roof as the whole fortress starts to burn.
Flicktail YIPES! as he ducks, falling in front of Aden and rolling. Though he manages to keep hold of martin's blade, he does cut himself on the keen edge. He tries to regain his feet, keep the ferret's attention off of Mags till Mags can kill him.
With all the remaining guards either dead or dealing with Aden and Flick, that leaves Magramba to face off with Rogir. His sword held at the ready, the warrior bounds after the hob, lashing out as he gets close, a swing that cleaves the horn bow in half but doesn't manage to harm the warlord himself.
Rogir's horn bow snaps as Magramba cleaves it in twain. The ferret was holding it in one hand, however, and steps up close to Magramba, bringing a needle pointed poniard up and around and slams it into the squirrel's side. It's a sneak’s weapon, the worst kind; the sort one cannot see clearly until it is too late. "I really do find this tiresome," he breathes into Magramba's face before kicking the squirrel backwards and disengaging to draw his own sword. The other guards continue to fight Aden and Flicktail, trying to drive the pair of them off the roof and down into the flames! There are flames on all sides now, the night alight with their brightness. The slaves’ barracks is a mass of panicking vermin and slaves fighting back. As usual the slaves have risen up as the vermin fall apart.
The bow and arrow are rather problematic, and Aden has already earned herself one annoying handicap this battle - she'd rather not get stuck with anything else. She's already feeling woozy from the blood loss, but she is stubborn to a fault - and where her friends are concerned, there is no stopping her. The heat from the fire is starting to feel oppressive - the smoke rising and adding a whole other element of discomfort to this operation. The squirrel leaps back as Flick hits the roof in front of her, dancing back to avoid tangling with her comrade - but her eyes are stuck on the battle between Magramba and Rogir - and she let's out a shout as he stabs the squirrel. "NO!" She is flying across the roof now, trying to get to Mag, but a guard takes her down. She falls beneath the weight, kicking her feet up to avoid being run through, she catches him in the middle and drives him back enough to scramble upright.
Getting a big ol' knife in your side isn't something you can really shake off, even if you're as tough as Magramba. The squirrel reels back, kicked further by the ferret, hanging doggedly to his sword as he stumbles. He falls to his back before struggling upright once more, shoving a fist stubbornly against his bleeding side as he regains his feet. Thumping his fist against the wound and hissing out his pain, the squirrel comes on again, this time unleashing a harrowing volley of blows on the vermin leader, concentrating his assault on Rogir's head, neck, and torso, furious in his speed and intensity.
Flicktail moves to rise and assist his friend mags, now charging towards the ferret. He keeps Martin's blade leve,l trying to decapitate vermin as he charges left and right...."I'm coming matey!”
Rogir defends himself, swinging his sword, blocking Magramba's attacks. He growls menacingly and parries and attacks, pushing his larger size as an advantage to try and force Magramba backwards and end the squirrel for good. "I will not stand for your sort of heroism squirrel." The pair of them rock back and forth, weapons clashing, straining, struggling. The rush assault from Magramba against his head and torso and his neck forces the ferret to defend himself. He takes a step backwards, over extends his left arm on a return parry and Magramba shoves into him. It's not much of a blow but it is enough: the ferret staggers back, one, three… five steps, turns, sword raised as Magramba's own stumble from the rush sends him to one knee. The vermin is seconds from removing Magramba's head when the squirrel surges upwards off his knees and shoves his paws into the ferret's exposed middle. He staggers back and screams as the roof collapses under him... the ferret vanishes in a column of exploding flames as the entire roof of Marshank starts to cave in! Magramba is tossed up and over and winds up hanging by one paw above the roaring inferno that just engulfed Rogir.
Aden is busy with her adversary, but hears Magramba get back to his feet - how long he'll /be/ on them is another question entirely. She surges forward at the rat who attacked her, and - as she feared - it comes to an exchanging of blows. She manages to block his first two strikes, but struggling through this all with only one useful arm is taking a toll - one slice nicks her injured arm, the next cuts a gash at her side - the red blossoming across her tunic is starting to meet in the middle, like her injuries want to be friends. Isn't that quaint? She shakes the fuzzies from her head and suddenly drops to the ground, startling the rat enough to kick his legs out from under him. By the grace of some deity, he falls on his own blade. She struggles upright and takes off after Flicktail - movements bogged down by the toll the battle has taken on her. But she is still going. And then Rogir goes down...Mag with him. "MAG!" She throws her sword to the ground and races across the roof - he's holding on. She braces her feet against the failing edge of the roof and offers both arms down to him - shoulder be damned. The shingles slip and give beneath her feet, but it's holding.
Flicktail bolts forward for Aden. His paws, slippery with blood, grasps the squirrel’s bushy tail as he digs his claws on his footpaws in. "I got ya Aden!”
The squirrel looks up at Aden as she offers her paws down to him, just clinging weakly to the edge of the roof. His eyes are not scared, or angry, or bitter. Just tired and sad. Magramba's paw doesn't move, stuck tight to the edge of the roof while the heat and the flames rise up around him, sweat and blood mingled on his face.
Pulling Magramba back onto the roof is no easy task, but the party manage it, and together move back to the more stable part of the roof. Down below there are several large otters who upon spotting the squirrels and the fox start shouting for them to come on down. They are wary of Flicktail, but the sword of Martin the Warrior in his hands calms them as they help them off the roof. "The whole thing is aflame, we have to get out!" one of the otters shouts. "Here, carry this." One of them pushes a large scroll case into Flicktail's arms and picks up Aden and carries her. Another otter encourages Magramba along, out of the flaming fortress and into the night. Soon enough they are all down on the beach, looking back as the fortress of Rogir burns... and miracle of miracle the scroll case in Flicktail’s paws: it is exactly what the Princess described. Martin works in strange ways, as always. The villain is defeated and he has delivered on his promise: a way to save the Abbey from the Underking. The slaver is dead, the slaves are free, and there is just one more path to walk, one final riddle before they can return to the tall red walls and the melodious song of the bells.
The morning after, an inscription was found on one of the stones around Marshank's foundation:
“If you now would heed my call,
Follow me in heart and soul:
There my father left us all,
There I was first made a thrall,
Where I learned the Warrior's role.”
After a brief puzzling-it-out period, the group made sense of Martin's riddle and headed back to the southwest, remembering the stories they had read about the warrior. Arriving on the shore a week or so later, the little band has had time to lick their wounds and recover somewhat from that night at the fortress. Their feet on the sand, Magramba grins to his compatriots. "We're getting close."
Aden is messing with one of her bandages - the one about her shoulder - as they walk. "Finally. Though, I've got to be honest with you two - if we have to fight anything else, I'm letting them have the Abbey." She trundles up alongside the warrior and gives him a worried glance from the corner of her eye. "Are you doing okay?"
Flicktail says, "I have to find a stream or a barrel o rainwater, Martin's Blade MUST be purified"
"Okay, Flick, we'll keep an eye out," Magramba answers, moving steadily through the sand towards the caves. He glances towards Aden at her question, giving her a reassuring nod. "It was a bit dicey at first but I'm doing okay now," he assures her. "Let's just get to the caves and see what Martin wants us to see." Before long, they arrive, making their way quietly inside. The caves are uninhabited, but evidence that someone used to live here is still around: a doll, a fragment of a book, char from a fire. "Looks like the place has been abandoned ever since," the warrior remarks, running his fingers over the stone walls.
Her footsteps echo across the cold stone of the walls, and the squirrel crouches beside the remains of a doll. She turns it over, gingerly, in her paws before letting it return to its spot on the ground. "Let's start looking, then." She shrugs, straightening with a sigh. Everything is so /sore/. "You see anything, Flick?" She calls over to the fox.
There is a rustling in the brush and a soft brown streak rockets from the underbrush, knocking Flicktail over. "UNCA FLICKY FREEZE ME!" The happy doe leveret smiles, her nose wiggling. "Taka me HOME.”
"Oh." Magramba's voice is soft, as he falls quiet deeper back in the cave. Before him on the wall is another inscription. It reads,
“If you now stand at end,
Know that I have chosen well.
There stands one task for you to tend:
There is an Abbey to defend.
Take my sword; the wicked, quell.”
"Oh?" Aden follows after Mag, side stepping Flicktail and his new friend, and reads the inscription several times over. "Flick, you should come see this." She lays a paw, tentatively, on the warrior's shoulder. Is this a message for Flick? Or....No. It couldn't be, could it? "Mag?"
Flicktail gets up, carrying the happy dibbun, and reads it. "Wot do ya think it means? I was never much good with riddles." he brings the dibbun near Magramba. "Honey Blossom, this is Mr. Grumpy Cheeks... Mags," he says with genuine sympathy, "are ye alright?”
"It's for me. I can feel it. They- they all were." The realization comes flying home as Magramba thinks back over the lines. "Wield my blade, share my name, heed my call. Martin was calling /me./" The warrior is silent, somber.
Flicktail holds and strokes the dibbun’s ears. "Aye Magramba... did you think I would live forever?”
Aden doesn't have anything to say, for once. Her finger curl over her shoulder, her grip tightening. "Flick, why don't I take our friend - seems like you two may have somethings to talk about." She reaches out for the leveret, releasing her hold on her friend's shoulder with a final squeeze.
"Well, no, I just..." Magramba's voice trails off, eyes turning left and right before settling back on the inscription. "...me?"
Flicktail holds the sword out, blade sideways. "Sorry I got it messy for you, Champion.”
Wrestling the little dibbun into her arms, Aden starts to leave... Then stops. She half-turns, because this is something she wants to watch. "So maybe Martin isn't a total dolt, after all." She winks. "Champ." This is easier for everyone else to accept, it seems - Magramba may be late on the uptake, but this revelation has always been there. His destiny has been set from day one - watching him fight, she always felt there was something more to it. And now they know.
As his paw wraps around the grip again, that feeling of... rightness, completion, comes rushing back, pushing the doubt steadily from Magramba's mind. A slow smile creeps inexorably across his face. "...I'm ready." The scroll in his pack weighs next to nothing, but he can feel it pulling on him. "Let's get back to Redwall. We have an Underking to depose." With that, he turns away, striding from the cave into the light of day.
OOC: Meet Redwall’s Newest Champion!
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