#Vulpuz | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fuzzhugs · 5 years

Text

Fade

Redwall Fanfction by Fuzzhugs

3,800 Words

Martin marched forward through the mist, passing between the dark trees that dotted the bleak, grey landscape. As he walked, the fog parted in front of him, leaving a clear path toward his destination. Martin was uncertain as to what he would find, for it was not often that Vulpuz summoned him from the bright lands to the gate.

The black-iron gates sprang open upon at Martin’s approach, letting him pass through the towering fence cleaving through the misty wood.

Vulpuz stood near the gate, leaning against the fence. He was a fox in form, but black as midnight and clothed by shadows. Like the gates he tended, he towered above any mortal creature.

“What causes the Lord of the Gates such trouble that he must call upon me?” Martin asked the spectral fox.

“One of your creatures,” Vulpuz said, his voice like ice, causing Martin to slightly shudder as a chill ran down his spine. “His time has come and he must move on, but he refuses.”

Martin looked around the clearing near the gateway. “I do not see him.”

“Even now he attempts to find his own way back to the living world. I have shifted the wood so he will only find his way here.”

A short time later, a tall, strong otter stepped into the clearing. His eyes slid past Martin and straight to Vulpuz. “Let me out of here,” he demanded.

“I have told you what you ask is impossible. Your body is dead and your spirit has nowhere else to dwell in your world. Even now your corpse is drifting down a river to the sea.”

Vulpuz’ answer was not what the otter wanted to hear, nor did it seem to fully faze him. “Just for a little while,” he begged. “Let me make things right and then I’ll be back.”

“He does not listen to me,” Vulpuz told Martin. “See if you can make him cross the gates.”

Martin took a step forward. “Rillflag,” he called to the otter, “you must come with me.”

Rillflag’s gaze darted to Martin as if seeing him for the first time.

“Martin!” he cried desperately, grabbing the mouse by his shoulders. “There were vermin! My son is there alone! He’s only a baby! Do you have influence here? Can you send me back?”

Martin looked up into Rillflag’s sad and desperate eyes. “No creature or spirit can resurrect the dead. That arrow found your heart. There is no way back after that.”

“But you step into our world, so they say at the Abbey. The legends say you can influence events. Give warning to creatures and terrorize vermin.”

“My presence there is only transient. I work in riddles and dreams. I cannot walk where I once walked. This is hard to understand, but there are rules and limits to how I interact with the living world. Even I can only grasp the smallest portion of fate and destiny. What you ask for is not how things were written.”

Rillflag pushed Martin away in disgust. “You won’t help me save my son!? Fine then, I’ll do it without you!” He made to walk off into the misty wood again.

“You will only ever find your way back here,” Martin cautioned him. You are a leaf on a river. You can only float in one direction.” He sighed and looked up at Vulpuz. “Make a path out.”

Vulpuz looked down upon him. “You were saying of rules?”

“We’re just going to watch. Once he assured of his son’s safety, perhaps he will then be willing to cross.”

“Very well.” Vulpuz held out a black paw toward the wood. There was a shift in the breeze and the mist churned around. “There is your path.”

Martin told Rillflag to follow him and walked off into the mist. After a short distance, the fog gave way to sunshine.

“Are we back?”

“We are but watchers,” Martin reminded him, “you cannot change anything you see.”

“I can’t feel the grass on my paws,” Rillflag said, looking down.

“Because we are not truly here. We are only echoes.”

“Then how are we still standing on the ground?”

“Your spirit remembers how you used to exist. If you spent enough time like this, you would no longer be bound to such conventions. Have you noticed you are still trying to breathe? There is no air entering your lungs. You remember being alive, so you act like you’re alive.”

Rillflag shrugged off the new information. “Where’s my son?”

“He is near to where you left him. Only moments have passed.”

Rillflag passed through the underbrush, heading straight toward the ford. Martin followed at a leisurely pace.

Five vermin were standing at the edge of the river, all tattooed in a similar manner: a black stripe up the center of the face with a row of red dots on either side. One of the vermin, a fox, was pacing around, grasping at a bleeding paw and muttering “Bloody ruined me axe-paw.”

Another fox, this one an elderly female, was holding Deyna, Rillflag’s son. A ferret standing nearby was talking to her.

“Well, is it really him?”

The fox took the ferret’s paw and placed on Deyna, speaking the words “Zann Juskarath Taggerung.”

A sly grin appeared on the ferret’s face as he replied “Might warrior of our clan. Taggerung!”

All the while, Rillflag was among the vermin, yelling and swinging his fists, but his blows passed right through the clanbeasts. He screamed in frustration as they took off through the forest.

“They have my son, Martin! What am I supposed to do if I can’t touch them?”

“There is nothing you can do, Rillflag. I’ve been telling you, your time has passed. You can no longer change this world.”

“What did they take him for? They called him a mighty warrior. Do they want him to fight for them? I won’t let them turn my son into a monster!”

“Your son will be fine, Rillflag. Those vermin have no desire to hurt him. I know it is painful to hear, but there is nothing you can do now.”

Rillflag growled. “Am I supposed to simply accept my son being turned into a murderer and thief?”

“He’s your son, Rillflag. Do you think strong hearts can so easily be extinguished? I was raised in slavery and treated cruelly. Am I a murderer and thief?”

“He’s only a baby!”

“Do you want me to show you?”

“Show me what?”

“Living creatures travel through the seasons like sand through an hourglass, but we have left that hourglass and can turn it in any direction we choose. I can show you your son’s furthest descendants or take you back to see the first otter who walked upon this land. We are but dreams, and time is nothing in dreams.”

“Very well,” Rillflag said. “Show me.”

Martin took a hold of Rillflag’s arm and the world blurred around them. When their surroundings became clear, it was apparent they were someplace else.

“Where…” Rillflag began.

“In the woodlands west of where we were, at the northern reaches of the Western Plains. About six Summers later.”

“Why here, Martin? There’s nothing…” A sudden flapping in the bushes interrupted him. Rillflag peered into the bushes and saw a woodpigeon caught in a snare. The voices of approaching creatures caught his attention.

“I’ll go north and check the traps up there. You start down here and find me when you’re done.”

“Yes Chief.” A young otter, face covered with tattoos, walked through the bushes carrying a knife.

“Deyna,” Rillflag choked, tearing up. He reached a spectral paw out toward his son, but the young otter passed right through him.

The young Taggerung stood over the woodpigeon, watching it flap about pitifully in the snare. He had his knife up, but his paws were trembling. He looked around, listening and sniffing. When he was convinced he was alone, he put the knife back in his belt and loosed the snare from the bird’s neck.

“Go on, fly away, quick.”

The pigeon needed no second bidding and flew off over the trees and out of sight.

“Finding anything?” the Chief shouted from a distance.

“No Chief, not a thing.” The young otter walked off to continuing checking the snares in the area.

“Still believe he is being corrupted?” Martin asked Rillflag.

“Show me more,” Rillflag pleaded, hints of desperation in his voice. “Show me when he’s older.”

Martin grabbed hold of Rillflag and the world blurred around them again. They were now standing in the middle of a camp. In front of them was a group of young creatures, both male and female, all of whom were engaged in one-on-one fights.

“It’s another six Summers later,” Martin explained. “The young ones are continuing their training. Your son is supposed to be the strongest and the fastest.”

Rillflag’s eyes were fixed on his son, who was busy grappling with a young female stoat.

The stoat was smaller than Deyna, but that did not seem to dissuade her, even as her efforts made no visible impact upon him. She jerked to the right and left, trying to throw him off balance, but his footpaws remained firmly planted on the ground. She began to push straight into him, trying to force him backwards, but Deyna suddenly loosed his grip and sidestepped. The stoat’s momentum carried her forward and Deyna tripped her over his rudder, sending her sprawling to the ground.

The stoat snarled in frustration. Deyna offered a paw to help her up; she looked at him, puzzled. Around her, the other fights were resolving, and most of the other victors were giving their opponents a last kick or shoving their faces in the dirt. Thinking it was some trick, the stoat knocked Deyna’s paw aside and pushed herself up.

“These Juska are not overly brutal to each other, but simple kindness is often foreign to them,” Martin explained. “Despite this, your son grows into a merciful, caring creature.”

“But where does that take him? I’m glad he is no savage, but when his surrounded by savages, his kindness may be his undoing. They may kill him, thinking him weak.”

“I assure you, Rillflag, your son ends up leading a good life. A good beast could only endure this life for so long. Deyna leaves, has his adventure, and makes his way to Redwall.”

Rillflag sighed. “I need to see it. Let me see him free from all of this.”

“We really should be going back.”

“Please, Martin,” Rillflag pleaded, I have to be certain.”

Once more, the scene around them shifted, and the two spirits found themselves standing within a cave. Candles were stuck on every available surface, and all manner of shiny objects glittered in their light. Deyna was lying on a table in front of them, his eyes closed, with a severe wound in his chest.

Rillflag’s teeth ground together as he stood over the table, looking down at his son. “What has happened to him?”

“The consequences of a warrior’s life, but do not despair. He is under the care of the best healer in Mossflower.”

An ancient, white otter came shambling into the cave, the objects sewn into her dark cloak jingling and rattling as she did. In her paws she carried a bundle of herbs and berries.

“Rukky Garge? The otterfixer? I’m surprised she’s still alive. She was old when I was a little one. I broke my leg tripping over some rocks in a stream. After she fixed me up, I didn’t even have a limp.”

“And ye had t’ go and get yerself killed and ruin all my work,” Rukky added. “Step ‘way from yon table. Rukky’s got work t’ do.”

“Sorry.” Rillflag stepped back. “Wait…”

“ ‘nother one who can’t let go,” Rukky cackled as she worked on Deyna’s wound. “That ol’ fox is gettin’ soft. Used to be he jus’ hurl ye through gate hisself.”

Rillflag pulled Martin deeper into the cave. “How can she see us?” he whispered. “I thought we were just watching. You said we were little more than dreams.”

“In my life, I met several creatures who could see with more than just their eyes and knew things they shouldn’t have known. This Rukky Garge seems to be one such creature.”

Rillflag paced nervously around the back of the cave before approaching Rukky. “Is my son going to live?”

“Don’ be worryin’ ‘bout this one,” the ancient healer said, tracing her paw along Deyna’s tattoos. “There ain’t nothin’ Rukky likes more than stealin’ a soul from ol’ foxy’s claws.”

Rillflag turned to Martin. “I think I’m ready to go now, but I’d like to make one last visit first.”

“Who?”

“I’d like to see my wife and daughter first. One final goodbye.”

Martin smiled. “I was planning on taking you there anyway.”

“If ye ever feel like droppin’ in, forget it,” Rukky chimed in. “Don’ like surprise visitors. ‘cept foxy. Oi mousie, tell that broody bugger t’ stop in fer tea sometime. He don’ get out enough.”

Martin turned his attention back to Rillflag. “Let’s get to Redwall.”

In moments, they were there, standing in one of the dormitories in the middle of the night.

“A score of days after your death,” Martin said before Rillflag could ask.

The otter walked across the room and knelt next to the smaller of the two beds. Martin stood behind him, looking at the young ottermaid.

“My little girl,” Rillflag sniffed, a lone tear flowing down his face. “I can’t even tell her I love her one last time.”

Martin gently placed his paw on Rillflag’s shoulder. Rillflag held up his paw; he felt it tingling. He looked toward Martin.

“It’s your daughter. I’m bending the rules. You are somewhat more tangible and can be seen and heard, but speak quietly.”

Trembling, Rillflag ran his paw tenderly across Mhera’s cheek; his paws pushed the soft fur aside and did not simply pass through it. “She’s so warm.” Leaning in close, he whispered to her, “Mhera, darling. It’s Papa. I’m going to have to go soon, and I won’t be able to come back. I’m sorry I won’t be here to see you grow up. Be good to Mama. I love you so much, little one.” As softly as he could, he kissed her on her brow as if he was saying goodnight, as he had done a thousand times before.

Mhera rolled over in her sleep, murmuring. “Mmmumph. Papa.”

Rillflag froze. “Martin,” he choked, “can she still hear us?”

Martin looked to be in the same emotional state as Rillflag. He shook his head.

Rillflag curled up on the floor, bawling. Martin sat on the floor beside him, holding the otter as his anguish took its toll.

“I don’t want to let go, Martin.” Rillflag sobbed, his eyes red and puffy. “I don’t want to let them go.”

“You needn’t forget them, Rillflag. I would never ask that. You will just be leaving for a time, but you will be reunited one day, and I swear, Rillflag, I swear I will watch over them and protect them.”

Rillflag nodded, though he still shook. “I know. I know you will, but that does not make this any easier. Let me say goodbye to my wife. I cannot take much more of this.”

He stood beside his wife for a few long moments, saying nothing. “I have no words.” He finally said. “How can I say goodbye to her?”

“I have an idea,” Martin said. “Kneel down; close your eyes.”

Rillflag did as Martin told him. He felt the mouse place his paw on his head. He felt a faint breeze pass by. “You can open your eyes now,” Martin said to him.

When Rillflag opened his eyes he was no longer in the Abbey. He was in Mossflower somewhere. He could hear the river running just a few paces away. “Where are we?”

“Filorn was dreaming,” Martin explained. “We’ve now joined her in her dream.”

“And she’s here somewhere? We can talk to her?”

“You can, yes. I’ve shrouded myself. She shouldn’t be able to see or hear me. Don’t do anything to dramatic, or you might wake her. She should be nearby. Have a look around.”

Rillflag’s first impulse was to follow the river, so he led Martin along away until they got to a bend where the current slowed. In the still waters, he got a good look at his reflection. Rillflag was not even in his middle-seasons when he died, but he looked younger now than at the time of his death. He was slimmer and more youthful.

“What is this?” he asked Martin.

“She must be dreaming about you,” Martin responded. “This is how she is remembering you.”

“If I’m this young, than she…” Rillflag’s voice cut out. “Follow me.” He took off along the river, Martin following in his wake.

The otter stopped where the land dropped sharply away onto a sandbank below. “She’s down there,” he whispered. “This is where we first met, seasons ago. Well, not first met. We had known of each other, being otters living in Mossflower, but this is where we first started getting to know each other.”

“How did it go?”

“If I remember correctly, I tripped as I was walking and nearly fell onto her down there.”

“Sounds like a good place to start.”

“What do you…” Rillflag failed to finish his question as Martin pushed him off of the elevated riverbank. He hit the ground hard, right next to a young, attractive ottermaid. (Martin slid down and sat nearby).

Rillflag lay dazed on the sand. The cute otter was peering down at him.

“Are you hurt?” she asked, fighting to avoid laughing at the clumsy visitor.

“Yes, yes.” Rillflag assured her. “I was walking along and I…I…” he fought to find an excuse, “I tripped. Over something.”

“Do you trip often?”

“Only around the prettiest of otters.” Rillflag found the words coming unnaturally easily to his mouth. He had used these words before.

Filorn smiled shyly. “Are you always such a flatter?”

“Again, only to the prettiest of otters.” (“Was I really this terrible at flirting?” Rillflag thought to himself.)

“You’re Rillflag, aren’t you? Your branch of the holt lives further upriver. I think I’ve seen you at some of the gatherings. You sometimes go by Rill, don’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“Weren’t you the one who set himself on fire at the last one?”

“Well…” Rillflag stammered. “You see, I had made a bet that I could juggle three lit torches, but since I had no prior juggling experience, it may have been a mistake. So I didn’t so much as light myself on fire as I dropped a lit torch on my footpaw which…caused me to catch on fire.”

Filorin had started giggling halfway through the story and erupted into full laughter by the end. “I’m sorry,” she gasped between laughs. “I really shouldn’t laugh, but you’re just so…so…”

“Many have said adorable, charming, outrageously handsome.”

“You certainly can liven up a celebration, at any rate.”

“Speaking of,” Rillflag said, remembering a detail from that day, “have you ever been to the Hullabaloo? There’s a group from our camp getting ready to leave in a few weeks.”

“Not yet,” Filorn shook her head. “Mother and father have always said I was too young to go, but I suppose I’m old enough to decide for myself now.”

“You should come this time. I can promise you we will have a great time.”

Filorn leaned into Rillflag, resting her head on his shoulder. “I know we will. And we did, Rill. Those days were some of the happiest, along with marrying you and starting our family.”

Rillflag glanced toward Martin, who could only shrug.

“You’re really here, aren’t you?” she reached up and stroked his chin and neck. “You are no dream.”

Like a vanishing fog, their youthful visages faded. They were no longer two young creatures falling in love; they were two mature otters who had led a life together.

“Filorn, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to go.”

“I know that, my love. You would never leave if you didn’t have to.”

“I just had to see you one more time.”

Filorn smiled sadly. “Did you get Martin to drag you up here just for Mhera and me?” She nodded in the warrior-mouse’s direction.

(“Of course she can see me,” Martin grumbled.)

“I had to say goodbye. I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. But now I have nothing left to say you don’t already know.”

They leaned together, forehead to forehead, eyes closed, just sitting for a time.

“Will I remember this when I wake, Martin?” Filorin asked directly to him.

“You will remember dreaming of your husband, of happier days. You will grieve for him still; you will miss him still.”

“That will have to do, I suppose,” Filorin said somberly.

“Take care of yourself, beloved. Do not weep too much. Martin has promised me Deyna will be fine.”

“Then I will endure as long as I can, until I see you again, Rill.”

There was nothing left to be said between them. They stood upon the sandy shore beside the River Moss. Paw-in-paw, they watched the sun go down.

“I love you,” they said together, and the world faded around them, dissolving into mist.

Filorn was gone. Only Rillflag and Martin remained. They walked in silence for a short distance before emerging out of the mist to Vulpuz’ gate.

The ebony fox looked down at them, his eyes glistening like obsidian. “Are you ready to enter, otter?”

“No, I’m not,” Rillflag responded, looking Vulpuz straight in his eyes. “But I don’t suppose anybeast ever truly is.”

“This is so.” The fox agreed, deigning to give a nod to the otter.

The gates slowly creaked open.

Rillflag took one last look back. He took a few more steps forward and faded entirely into the mist.

Martin lingered at the gates. “I hate it when you make me take them,” he told Vulpuz. “Tearing them from their loved ones is no pleasant task.”

“That it is, mouse. I have performed this task since before the seasons were named. Never have I found joy in it.”

“Then why place the burden upon another, if only on rare occasions?”

“Because there are times, mouse, when even I do not believe I have the heart to tell a creature their time has come.”

Martin shook his head as he walked toward the gate, a faint smile on his face. “I’ve underestimated you, Vulpuz. By the way, Rukky Garge says that you’re invited to tea at your convenience.”

“A curious creature,” Vulpuz reflected. “I do enjoy her company. She is a worthy adversary.”

Martin left Vulpuz to his own business and walked through the gates. The black-iron closed behind him and he faded into the mist.

#redwall #redwall abbey #taggerung #redwall fanfiction #martin the warrior #vulpuz #abbess mhera #filorn

51 notes · View notes

theredwallrecorder · 7 years

Text

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) pt 3 - SHOWSTOPPER

*walks up to the mic in a completely silent auditorium*

*clears throat loudly, opens mouth*

[this is what comes out of my gaping mouth]

( ͡°( ͡° ͜ʖ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ʖ ͡°) ͡°)

I’m not gonna lie, I love Martin and company with a fiery passion, but sweet Redwall strawberries if I haven’t been waiting for this part since the beginning of this ridiculous fic. Our heroes have had their time in the limelight, and now to introduce the real showstoppers. We’re goin full anime up in here, and by “full anime” I mean “you about to be smothered in copious bromance and awesome combat”. From this point on, fic parts will focus on individual duels, but it’ll all get tied together in the end. @thegoldensoundtwice not a day goes by that I don’t blow a kiss in your general direction for riding this crazy train with me. Thank you for lettin’ me borrow your daughter ;3

Please enjoy Redwall Hell: The Anime pt 3, in which Martin and company are redirected to a new waypoint, and Vulpuz pretty much loses it. How are we supposed to hold all his pent-up anger and frustration? No clue, but I’m willing to bet that she would know the answer to that one. *wink* Also, if anyone’s curious, the top two photos at this link depict what she’s wearing upon her arrival, courtesy of @raphcrow. Thanks for the ref material, bae, and more besides. <3

A quick note on wounds/injuries in Redwall Hell: I’m working off the headcanon that you can sustain injuries in Hellgates. The visible ones (cuts, bruises, etc) leave behind a wound that glows with a soft light. I imagine this plays into the “yes, you are actually in purgatory” atmosphere. However, you do not actively bleed in Hellgates. I mean... you’re already dead, lol. You can’t die twice... right?

If there’s a part 3, that means there’s a part 1 and a part 2. Have at ‘em.

Oh, and here are some jams for your listening pleasure: /SHOWSTOPPER/, /LAST REMOTE/, /THROWDOWN/, /THIS TOWN, YOUR GRAVE/, /NOVOCAINE/, /DRUMMING SONG/, /DARK HORSE/, /GIRL/

Let’s rave.

- - - - - -

Martin and Laterose blinked. The quarry, the sea, the makeshift throne and all of the northeastern shore by Marshank was utterly gone, as if somebeast had taken an old rag and wiped them from existence. The scene from ages past had been replaced by the familiar veined brimstone and eerie reddish glow of the desolate landscape of Hellgates. They were standing in a small clearing, edged on three sides with a low wall constructed of mismatched obsidian boulders. Myriad chunks of brimstone littered the area. Warily, Martin abandoned his offensive charge, the point of his sword still trained forwards. The sounds of indiscriminate shuffling prompted him to look back over his shoulder.

Rose had stopped swinging her sling. She was kneeling alongside Dinny and Grumm, helping the two dazed moles to come back to their senses. Several feet behind them, Gonff sat up, patting himself down to make sure he was still in one piece. His face was the very picture of awed surprise and confusion, but when he locked eyes with Martin, the irrepressible mousethief burst out laughing.

“Hahaha! We’re alive!” he cried, leaping to his footpaws. Hardly able to contain his joy, Gonff cartwheeled over to where Felldoh still lay in a baffled heap, the warrior squirrel’s intact spear laying across his chest. Still laughing, Gonff snatched up the spear and offered Felldoh a paw. “Up y’come, matey!”

Felldoh groaned as Gonff helped him up off the ground. “Ooh, that’s a sore spot for sure. Would anybeast be able to explain what exactly just—”

He froze mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open. In their midst a vixen had suddenly materialized, a dark gossamer cloak swirling slightly about her. She stood, tall and stern, her unwavering gaze fixed not on any of the company, but upon the disturbed visage of the Great Vulpuz. The ruler of Hellgates was crouching close to the ground a few yards away, his jaw working spasmodically, his eyes fixed on the cloaked vixen. Without moving a single muscle, she spoke to the woodlanders gathered around her, her tone low and urgent.

“You have done well to come so far. Now, you must abandon this fight. Follow my lantern. It will lead you to the one who does not belong here.”

In that moment the six friends became aware of the presence of a gentle glow, softer and more substantial than the unnatural light of Hellgates. The light emanated from an elegant paper lantern affixed to a delicate pole of bamboo wood, which had appeared in the air next to Gonff. The lantern swayed gently back and forth in an unseen wind, its pole hovering several feet off the ground. The aft end of the pole rotated slowly upwards, the artfully carved handle coming to rest against the back of one of Gonff’s paws, as if the lantern was offering itself up to be held.

The mousethief hesitated, his brow creased with doubt. He glanced up at Martin. The warrior mouse’s mouth was set in a grim line, and he was watching the newly-arrived vixen intently. The thought of the group being confronted by another deadly trap flitted briefly through Gonff’s mind.

“It’s all right, Gonff,” Rose broke through the mousethief’s reverie. “This is the one who has been guiding us with her voice, the Lady of Hellgates.”

“Burr aye, take oop ee loight, zurr Gonffen,” Grumm encouraged.

Bolstered by his friends’ confidence, Gonff reached out to grasp the Lady’s lantern. The bamboo pole seemed to thrum with an energy all its own, causing a tingling sensation in his paw. He eyed the lantern curiously as it bobbed to and fro.

“How will this tell us where to go? Should I… ask it?” He gestured to the lantern with his free paw. “Will you show us the way?”

Without warning the lantern and its pole bucked so fiercely, Gonff was forced to take hold of it with both paws. The animated lamp seemed to gather itself before executing an enormous leap, effectively dragging Gonff across the clearing. “This waaay, maaaaaaaates!” he managed to holler back at the company before the lantern tugged him over the crest of a low hill and out of sight.

Loth to abandon what he knew to be a brewing conflict, Martin hovered betwixt uncertainty and his warrior instincts. It was not in his nature to leave another to fight his battles for him, especially one so mysterious as the Lady of Hellgates.

“Go.”

The Lady’s spellbinding voice shattered Martin’s spirit of indecision. For the first time she tore her gaze from Vulpuz, a vague smile of admiration playing about her lips as she beheld the warrior mouse with her bright, piercing eyes.

“Your heart has courage, but you know not whom you face,” she cautioned. “You must be swift, warrior! The tenderhearted one called Blaggut needs you!”

The mention of a creature in need reminded Martin of the task at hand. He nodded to the rest of the company, and the five friends tore off across the clearing after Gonff, disappearing together over the distant knoll. The Lady breathed a visible sigh of relief as she felt the presences of the woodlanders grow faint.

Meanwhile, Vulpuz, ruler of Hellgates, had abandoned himself to a temper tantrum. At some point during the exchange between the Lady and Martin’s group, he had thrown himself upon the ground to writhe piteously in the dust, scoring deep scratches in the earth with his claws. At intervals he would throw up his head to snarl at the sky, tearing great tufts of white fur out of his tail as he did so. Ravenously he gnawed upon the boulders around him, crushing broken pieces of the fiery brimstone between his powerful jaws. He eventually succumbed to rapidly dragging his paws down his face in a repetitive, anxious blur of motion, all the while hurling accusations, entreaties, and insults at the Lady.

“How could you? How could you?!” he screeched, his voice rising to a fever pitch. “I had them! Do you know how many eons of insufferable boredom I could have blissfully passed through with those imbeciles as my pets?” Vulpuz’s eyes bulged, the veins in his neck pulsating as he gave full vent to his rage. “Curse you, foul and deranged vixen! How could you take this from me?! This was to be my moment of ultimate triumph, the pivotal instance where I, the Great Vulpuz, would steal the very crown of Dark Forest right from under the dripping snouts of those idiotic woodlanders! Why? Why?! What in my name have I ever done to you to deserve this sort of treatment?” The Great Vulpuz scrambled onto his footpaws with erratic urgency. He paused briefly, his chest heaving from the exertion of his outburst.

“I… I have to do something about you. I must do something about you!” Vulpuz’s upper lip curled into a snarl, flecks of spittle falling from his chin. “I… I know you will interfere again… if given the chance.”

The Lady placed one paw on her hip, regarding Vulpuz with mild amusement. “There,” she cooed at him. “You’ve spoken your piece. Tell me, how does the Great Vulpuz feel now?”

The white fox’s entire body shook, and he bent forward at the waist. “Ooooooh, I feel so betrayed,” Vulpuz wailed, his voice almost a sob. He continued to speak aloud to nobeast in particular, his gestures wild and distracted. “How could she do this to me? Me, the ruler of Hellgates? When I knew she had come, I rejoiced, thinking she would join me in my revelry… but, no.” He scuffed at the ground with a vicious kick. “No, no, NO! She protected those miscreants! Hellsteeth! Just thinking about it makes me want to tear myself limb from bloody limb! Augh! And the smell! How noxious and revolting the stench of Dark Forest that clung to their miserable bodies like fine mail!”

A full minute of complete silence elapsed, in which Vulpuz remained hunched over and panting, the inner flames of his fury stoking themselves into an untamable wildfire. Slowly he raised his head, locking eyes with the sole object of his hatred, and in his gaze was the pale light of a cruelty so chilling the Lady flicked one ear in acknowledgement of it.

“I feel… rage.” Vulpuz’s voice had grown deathly quiet. “Rage at the one who took what was mine by right of conquest. How deeply I long to thrash her beyond recompense, to tear out her eyes and commit them to the infernal winds, to defile her adulterous establishment, to completely and utterly…”

He smiled at her.

“… Devour you.”

The reddish light of Hellgates slowly dimmed until the Lady found herself surrounded by complete darkness. Though Vulpuz was unaware of it, she could still see him, his knack for warping appearances having no effect on her. He was laughing now, echoes of maniacal glee ringing about the stone-rimmed clearing.

“I’ve had enough of your kittish antics, vixen,” he admonished. “I will let the stroke of my chisel of anger fall upon you. Haha, finally! You will give me what I desire, and if not, I shall carve it from you by force.”

Four distinct presences manifested themselves to the Lady in the same moment, catching her off guard. Before she could react she was confronted by a heavy whooshing sound, and out of the corner of her eye she saw a great iron war club come barreling down towards her. In an instant there was an answering flash of drawn steel, and Willow Slay stood alongside the Lady, her flawless curved blade effortlessly parrying the fatal strike.

The Lady blinked. “Willow Slay, what in Hellgates are you—!”

The chef of Redwall Hell’s nightclub unceremoniously interrupted her. “My Lady, on your right!”

Out of the darkness snaked a cruel thonged whip, the metal barbs lashed to its ends seeking to tear gaping holes in the Lady’s flesh. Suddenly, the whip caught on an obstruction in its flight path. Nivedita did not even wince as the biting thongs wrapped themselves around her upraised arm. She snarled into the shadows, dislodging the projectiles from her wrist and forearm with a disdainful shake.

“My Lady, are you hurt?” Nivedita turned slightly to catch the eyes of her mistress, the glow from her wounds highlighting the contours of concern etched into her face.

“Well, no,” the Lady blustered, “I am fine… but, you both, I…”

Willow laughed out loud as she deftly tossed her blade to her off paw in order to summon forth a pair of throwing knives. “My Lady, I know you didn’t really expect us to remain at the nightclub while you went off to tango with the old fox. Damn well inconsiderate of you— erm, pardon the language.

“That is, we’d like to tango too, if it’s all right with you,” Nivedita finished sheepishly.

The Lady observed both her steward and chef with wonder. The unlikely pair were peering into the darkness around them, every muscle poised to defend. Very little surprised the Lady, but the loyalties of her most beloved children never ceased to prompt within her a spirit of humble gratitude. She bowed her head before glancing up in Vulpuz’s direction, a tacit gesture of submission.

“I… consider myself thoroughly chastised,” she exhaled, the slightest hint of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Forgive me, Nivedita, Willow, for attempting to deprive you of this honor your both rightfully covet.”

The chef and the steward seemed to swell with pride. Boldly they faced the darkness before them, fearing neither creature nor fate.

“Think nothing of it, my Lady,” declared Willow. She directed her knives to circle in the air above her free paw, the tip of her sword flicking up and down in sync with their rotation. “These blades are yours to command!”

“Yes!” Hope danced in Nivedita’s eyes as she adopted what she thought to be a cool and aggressive combat stance. “Let us fight with you!”

“Shut up, shut up!” Vulpuz roared from his hiding place in the shadows. “How dare you show your faces here, you worthless serfs! I will have nothing to do with you. Amuse yourselves with my right and left paws whilst I entertain your mistress!”

“Ha! Suits me!” Willow Slay scoffed. “I’ll tan any hide what shows its miserable self here! Prepare yourself to receive me, clubface!” Without another word the courageous mink threw herself into the darkness, leading with her blades.

Nivedita’s kind features were set with determination. “For you, my Lady,” she intoned, stepping forth to allow the shadows to swallow her up as well.

The Lady breathed deeply, her all-knowing gaze effortlessly piercing the darkness. She locked eyes with the infuriated ruler of Hellgates and gracefully held out an open paw.

“I am ready, Vulpuz.”

11 notes · View notes

theredwallrecorder · 7 years

Text

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) pt 1

I am so tempted to use the lenny face to title every post I now make for this AU. *coughs nervously*

Anyway so after @thegoldensoundtwice hurt my soul deeply and irrevocably and there is no forgiveness for meanies I would like to retaliate with the first part of a literal monstrosity, which is a sequel piece meant to follow this and this, and also this vignette of a prologue. Because you can’t just hint at a hecka schweet covert afterlife woodlander rescue mission through the jagged pits of Hellgates without making it happen. And mates........... where MAKING THIS HAPEN

@raphcrow it is not yet to be, but it is coming. *sly. slow. wink.*

Please enjoy what I have affectionately been referring to as Redwall Hell: The Anime. Here’s the opening theme LUL ~ Part two coming soon!

May the Great Vulpuz have mercy on us all.

- - - - - -

Hellgates was a realm nothing quite like Martin or his friends had envisioned. It was a dismal place, a land of earth, stone, and sand with no signs of life, creature or otherwise. The rough terrain was scored in places by scars torn deep into the earth, as if a great beast had unleashed its wrath upon the countryside. A pale-faced sun watched over the seemingly endless, desolate expanse, giving off a watery light that could easily have been outshone by a roaring hearthfire. A dull crimson glow emanated from the cracks and fissures etched into the monolithic stones, supplementing the weak sunlight, but it cast an eerie reddish pall over everything it touched. No sound could be heard, save the hollow whistling of the wind as it felt its way across the forbidding landscape.

Despite the apparent dryness of their surroundings, Martin and his company felt chilly, as though each of them had been confronted by a blast of frozen air. They travelled in a single file line, all their senses alert, each creature straining to catch a glimpse of... something.

“You’d think it’d be a mite warmer here, what with these veins of fire running through all these rocks,” Gonff’s voice broke into the silence. “It’s as if somebeast used the stones to ring their cooking fire, but the blaze that once licked at their insides never went out.”

“Burr, only ee foire burns lioke ee frost, zurr mouseythief,” Grumm observed, giving the rocks on either side of him a wide berth. “Oi’d loike to make ee proper foire for summ zoup, but there’m baint no sticks yurrabouts!”

Rose tentatively ran the back of her paw across the surface of one of the massive brimstone boulders. “I agree, Grumm. These stones look like they’d burn you if you touched one, but it actually feels like ice.” She paused as they reached the top of a small rise, thoughtfully surveying the terrain ahead of them. “Everything looks the same here, Martin. How do we know if we’re heading in the right direction?”

The warrior mouse reached the crest of the hill, coming to a standstill alongside her. “I don’t think there’s a way to tell for sure, Rose. This is a strange place. Still, we must continue on. The message the Lady conveyed to me was one of utmost urgency.”

Felldoh flicked his tail in a gesture of mild annoyance. “And I suppose it was so urgent she forgot to include directions?”

Martin shrugged, adjusting the shoulder strap of his sword belt. “I do not think the Lady of Hellgates would invite us to run a fool’s errand. There must be a way for us to figure out where we are going.”

“I’ve got it mates!” Gonff clapped his paws together, a look of mock seriousness upon his face. “I say we spin Dinny around in a circle, and wherever his nose points when he stops has got to be the right way to go.”

“You’m gurtly wrong thurr, zurr. Oi say we spin ee, more loike. This yurr moler culd sloice ee roipe cheese with yore snout as moi knoife, hurr!”

As Dinny and Gonff continued to banter back and forth, Laterose noticed that Grumm had been quietly staring off into the distance with curious intensity. She shimmied atop one of the brimstone boulders next to him and peered in the direction he was looking. “What is it, Grumm? Do you see anything out there?”

The spellbound mole shook his head slowly. “Burr no, miz Roser. Oi’m… oi thought oi heard ee voice callen from thataways. Twas most bootiful, loike ee soft velvet o’er glass.”

Martin stepped between Gonff and Dinny, effectively cutting short their conversation. “Is that true, Grumm? What did the voice say to you?”

Grumm’s deep molevoice was solemn as he intoned the cryptic message, “’Cumm, yore friend awaits for ee.’” He raised a hefty digging claw, indicating a line of low, jagged cliffs on the horizon off to one side. “Oi felt moi snout gettin’ tugged towards ee stoney ridge o’er yonder.”

“It may be that the Lady is trying to get our attention,” Rose offered. “Should we head in that direction?”

Felldoh observed the distant formation, voicing his thoughts aloud. “It could also be a trap. As of right now, we have no idea where we are in relation to our ultimate destination, and we have no way of knowing if the voice Grumm has heard isn’t some nasty trick meant to lead us astray.” He turned to the group, his tone edged with skepticism. “Have you noticed how we have yet to encounter anybeast here? Something can’t be right.”

“It seems my reputation as the Prince of Mousethieves precedes me.”

“Gonff.”

“Haha, sorry mates. Ah, I say we go see what Grumm’s velvety-voiced friend has in store for us.”

Martin shook his head at his friend’s joke and exhaled slowly, his keen gaze sizing up the distance between the group and the faraway cliffs. “Felldoh does have a point, but we have nothing else to go on but Grumm’s lead. If we head to the rocks, I think it would be wise to proceed with caution. Our only other option is to continue wandering aimlessly.” The warrior mouse held out an open paw. “All those in favor of investigating Grumm’s message, say ‘aye’.”

Four hearty voices rang out into the muted stillness. Martin glanced over at Felldoh, who shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “Whatever it is, I think we can take it on. I’m in.”

The six friends travelled swiftly, Felldoh acting as rear guard while Gonff scouted ahead. The gently rolling flatlands they had previously been navigating dipped to morph with a low-lying, mazelike area of stone canyons. Coarse, black sand shifted unsteadily beneath their footpaws as the sheer monoliths of stone hemmed them in on either side. The canyon walls were eerily reflective, the glow from their fiery light veins casting roguish shadows betwixt every unfamiliar twist and turn. Even the slightest sound came ricocheting back at the group with deafening intensity. It was enough to put everybeast’s nerves on edge.

Gonff had adjusted his tactics somewhat, skillfully forging on to inspect the passageways of each new change of direction dictated by the structure of the canyon. He would creep forward, peering into every crevasse in the walls, checking every shadow, keenly alert for anything out of the ordinary. He had just reached the mouth of a wide, curving tunnel when he froze, his ears turning this way and that. When the rest of the group had caught up with him, he posed them a question.

“Do you mateys hear that?”

Everybeast was silent for a moment. Not a sound could be heard.

“What should we be listening for, Gonff?” Rose whispered, whiskers twitching curiously.

“It sounds like ocean waves lapping against a pebbled shore… and so close. But how?” The mousethief’s voice was almost hollow with bewilderment. “Can there be a sea in Hellgates?”

The squeal of a gannet abruptly cut through the air, closely followed by the sudden rushing hiss and resounding crash of an unseen wave upon sand. The six friends stood stock still, exchanging looks of surprise and confusion.

Grumm and Dinny were the first to move again, their footpaws sifting uneasily through the dark sand. Dinny elected to voice their joint observation aloud. “Marthen, if thurr be ee gurt sea yurrabouts, ee soil beneath us’n’s baint roight. If’n ee ground could speak, et would say no water bees here, zurrs! Naught for moiles aroun’!”

“What?” Felldoh was flabbergasted. “Are you saying there can’t be any body of water around here, even though we can all hear it?”

“And smell it, too,” Gonff added. He paused as everybeast caught a whiff of the salty coastal air. “We’d be blunderin’ ninnyheads to ignore what a mole knows to be true about the earth ‘n’ terrain, though.” One of his paws began to stray to the knives hanging from his belt. “Mayhaps Felldoh was right, eh? Could be some trick lies ahead, waiting for us.”

Martin glanced up at the strip of sky above them. Not a cloud was in sight. He sized up the canyon walls either side of them. “Do you think you could scale these walls to try to get a view of our surroundings, Felldoh?”

The warrior squirrel stepped closer to the nearest canyon face and ran his paws over it experimentally. “I don’t think so mate,” he admitted with obvious disappointment. “The surface is too smooth… no pawholds. Good idea, though.”

“Perhaps the only thing we can do is forge ahead.”

The five turned to see Rose unwinding her sling from about her waist, her eyes alight with determination. “I just heard the voice that spoke to you earlier, Grumm. It urged us to hurry. Why, I’m not sure.” She turned to her molefriend, her voice softening. “I understand why you were so thoughtful earlier, though. I feel as though somebeast just warmly embraced me… but, in my soul, if that makes sense.”

The kindly mole smiled and nodded, “Burr aye. Twere just loike ee say, miz Roser.”

“You’re sure?” Felldoh pressed.

Rose came to stand beside Martin. “Yes,” she answered, her tone resolute. “No matter what lies before us, I know we must go forth to meet it.”

Martin took a deep breath, straining to see down the darkened passageway before them. A solitary point of pale light hovered at the far end of the tunnel, its presence both chilling and intimidating. Suddenly, he realized that Rose had taken his paw. Their eyes met, and she offered him a warm smile. “All right, Rose,” Martin began, giving her paw a tender squeeze before he reluctantly released his grip. With business-like efficiency he turned to address the group. “Everybeast, stay together. Keep within a few paces of one another if you can. Felldoh, come up here with me. You and I will go in first. Gonff, you take the rear. Shout if you notice anything worth shouting about. Slings out, mates, in case we have to move fast.”

Everybeast shifted to follow Martin’s orders with stern precision. In moments the company was ready to move, each pair of paws loosely grasping a lithe sling, tongues of finely woven twine eager and ready to deliver a salvo of deadly missiles. After he had silently checked in with each of them, Martin gave the signal, and the friends moved forward as one. As they drew closer to the end of the tunnel, the sounds of the ocean became louder, filling the silence with a cacophony of screeching sea birds and undulating waves. Wafts of salty ocean air assaulted their nostrils, carrying hints of sunbaked sand and half-dried seaweed. Without a moment’s hesitation, the party emerged from the dark tunnel, everybeast blinking furiously in the harsh light.

The tunnel’s end opened upon a scene ripped from the very fabric of time. A long pathway led out before them, lazily curling around a mess of fallen chunks of rock until it split to go in two directions. Its left arm began to slope gently downwards, the uneven, sandy surface descending into a deep recess carved into the clifftop. The right fork of the path levelled off, running parallel to the beach far below them before it made a sharp turn and disappeared, presumably weaving its way down to the ocean. A brilliant sun shone down on them from a cloudless, periwinkle blue sky, its rays glinting off the surface of the distant sea as if it were a flawless, multifaceted jewel. A group of gannets soared playfully above the waves, chasing each other to and fro as the race to catch a meal was on. At first, the friends seemed to relax, but the idyllic nature of the scene was instantly shattered the moment they each laid eyes on the walls of a massive fortress, its oppressive bulk seeming to rise from amidst the sands above the tideline roughly a league to the north of their position. A tattered, solitary flag peeked over one end of the battlements, its patchwork form waving jauntily in the sea breeze.

It took Rose a moment for her to sift through her mind, recalling distant memories. There had been a missing presence from her home, a desperate mission to find her beloved younger brother, a long trek across miles of forest and scrubland, culminating in the appearance of a towering fort erected along a rugged coastline… and like a thunderbolt the realization struck her. On instinct she reached for Martin’s forearm. He was as tense as a tightly wound rope, and she also felt a distinct pressure as Felldoh stiffened alongside her, his bushy tail bristling. The eyes of both warriors were locked on the figure seated upon a throne carved into the rock before them, the very seat from whence Badrang had once surveyed his slaves at work in the stone quarry south of the stronghold of Marshank. Rose felt the fur on the back of her neck slowly rising as her gaze met a pair of dark eyes twinkling with malicious intent.

The figure lounging casually on the chiseled throne was a fox of indescribable beauty, his white fur almost glowing in the light from the brazen sun. He was dressed simply in a cloak of cobalt blue silk, a delicate silver chain fastening the garment over his breastbone. His eyes, sparkling like two flawless sapphires, took in the small group with an eager intensity, as a miserly vermin would count the treasures in his hoard. A mocking sneer wreathed his unfathomably proud features, the gentle sea breeze ruffling through his headfur. Once he had drawn the attention of every individual in the company, the fox showed his fangs in a cruel smile.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure, Martin son of Sayna?”

20 notes · View notes

theredwallrecorder · 4 years

Text

RH - Of the Oak & Rose

Another entry for the Redwall Hell-verse because @raphcrow deserves it and more besides. @thegoldensoundtwice let me know of raph’s thirst, so now you know who to blame for this literally out of nowhere post ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)

The terrain of Hellgates is trapped in a state of constant, tumultuous upheaval, with locations shuffling and changing at random. It is understandable that Hellgates be this way, as it is a geographical reflection of its lord and master, Vulpuz. The beasts committed to roaming its tractless expanse are, in all meanings of the word, eternally lost... except for when, by chance or perhaps by fate, they stumble across a startling landmark: the decrepit husk of a large, dead oak tree, whose dry roots encircle a thriving rosebush bearing striking white blooms. The oak and rose act as the signpost to the lady's tavern; once you find it, you have only to pass it by to enter the lands under her influence.

But, did you know that the oak was once alive and strong, marking the entrance to the afterlife alongside its brother tree? Indeed, Hellgates and Dark Forest were once two parts of the same whole, before that realm was torn asunder and the Lady made her abode upon the very spot where the original Dark Forest gates once stood. Here is the tale of the Lady’s arrival in that realm, containing an account of [the song] her mother and sisters sung to weave the tavern and its pools and gardens into existence.

- - - - - - - - -

The Lady lifted her eyes before the terrible blow fell.

The badger would not look at her, but the sun, Oh! The sun was rising in blinding golden glory from the depths of the sea behind him, and before she could blink the light was swallowing the waters and the pebbled strand and the stiff form of the badger and the barbarous shouting and the weeping and the whistling axe and finally, it swallowed her.

Now the Lady was sitting on naked earth, with nothing and nobeast at her side. All about her swirled an undulating, impenetrable mist. A veil of shadows hung over the Lady's awareness, and even when she prodded, it would not give way. For the first time, she was truly alone.

And the Lady wept. How careful she had been whilst in the company of her fellow creatures, nurturing the depth of her hidden sorrow without even a sigh of resignation. But here, before the threshold of Dark Forest, her tears sought recompense for the seasons. It was only as her grief began to settle into a dull ache within her breast that the Lady became aware she was no longer alone. Her mother had come, emerging silently from the mists, and sat upon the ground a paw's reach away. She had turned her body so as to give the Lady the private intimacy of her grief, but she was there, real and whole, and without a word the Lady threw herself into her mother's waiting arms. Thus the two souls remained, embracing in the company of the mists.

After a while, Leda grasped the Lady's paw, beckoning her to rise and follow. As if by magic, the gloomy murk that had clouded so thickly round them parted, revealing a flat expanse of empty earth that abruptly gave way to nothingness. Off to the right and barely a stone's throw away was the bank of a river, its width so vast the Lady could not see to the other side. A few large, flat stones reared out of the river, punctuating its unnaturally smooth surface. Were it not for the presence of the stones, the water would have appeared to be frozen and unmoving, though the Lady knew intuitively that this hinted at the foreboding depth of the river. No sound rose from those waters, not even from where the river hurled itself in torrential cascades over the very edge of the earth. It was there, close to the edge and atop a little rise in the riverbank, that a magnificent oak tree stood, its lower branches devoid of leaves.

"Firstdaughter, look now upon the emptiness that lies before you," Leda began, gesturing to the sobering scene. "Behold the great abyss into which endless waters flow. I tell you it was not always so... The moment your blood was shed, a fierce cataclysm seized the land, tearing the misted plain asunder. This ageless tree and its twin, heralds of the darkened forest, were permanently separated. One, toppled by the cataclysm, fell into the pit and is no more. The oak standing before us now is all that remains of the original threshold of the halls of the dead; alas, for I fear these roots have borne too much. Already the leaves from the crown of the king do fall." She paused to note the mound of dead oak leaves heaped about the roots of the tree. "Only a husk of memory shall remain here, even as the denizen of will and the harbinger of evil have yet to fulfill their christening of the mountain. This realm has sacrificed its wholeness to account for the unwritten fates of the living." Leda squeezed the Lady's paw gently before letting go. "In the same vein, you have yet to declare yours."

The Lady knelt upon the soil beneath the dying oak. Her mother watched as she swept a paw through the crisp, fallen leaves, scattering them into the wind. She continued to brush the leaves aside until, suddenly, there appeared the stiff green stems of a young rosebush jutting forth from the pale earth betwixt the oak's staunch roots.

"A little bush carries a loud voice, but I wish to hear its thoughts from your lips," urged Leda. "What will you do, Firstdaughter?"

Taking one last glimpse at the leafless rosebush, the Lady stood and drew alongside Leda. "I cannot walk through fields of reeds whose roots are gorged with the blood of creatures for whom I have wept," the Lady said softly. The lines of her mouth were firm as she cupped her mother's paws in her own, raising them up to press them against her lips. "I am afraid not even the wings of your spirit could bear me hence. Let me linger here until my vigilance slips from the mountain, until the last leaf fades from beneath this oak. I hesitate to give voice to it, but I will endure in the hope the oak yet lives."

Leda again embraced her daughter and caressed her face. "Fate came upon you with fangs bared and claws outstretched, and you have made it your boon," she said. "Your spirit has already made its den here. Far be it from me to keep you from where you belong, but, before we depart for the Dark Forest, we must bestow upon you our gift--a hearth for the flame of your soul."

A cry of joy came then carried upon the wind, and the Lady turned to receive the arrivals of four other foxes. One by one they embraced her, clasping her paws and kissing her cheeks. Their golden fur shone in the muted light as the eldest among them cried out, "How fathomless the wellspring of your heart, sister! Do not weep for us, for we were pleased to uphold the truth of your innocence even unto death. We have left the halls of our inheritance to come and sing with you, to sing of the gathering-place of the denizens of power."

Leda gestured in a wide arc to the empty sky, and she and her daughters gathered in a half-circle upon the bank of the soundless river. In breathless anticipation they waited, bodies swaying, until the Lady's voice, raised in song, pierced the silence. Together, they sung of cruel laughter that echoes across the sea, of firelight dancing along curved blades, of ships’ holds fit to bursting with stolen treasures. They sung of innocence plucked from a creature's final breath, of the scent of fresh blood soaking through torn cloth, of the cold gleam of the knife that flashes in the moonlight. They sung of oaths gleefully shattered, of furtive, fearful glances cast over one shoulder, and of pennant banners bearing the emblems of conquerors fluttering in the wind.

Their song rose to meet the mists, spreading outward as the melody increased in volume. Soft, yellowed grass sprang from the bare earth beneath their footpaws, racing along the bank of the river. A foundation of dark stone emerged from the ground, with walls crafted by unseen paws rising stone by stone upon it. Piece by loving piece was the building wrought, and as the final notes of their song faded into memory, her abode was finished. Many were the hours the Lady and her mother and sisters spent singing and speaking the tavern into existence, and it may be said that even to this day she continues to improve upon it, adding and removing such features according to her wont.

#hhehe double whammy for my redwall hell senpai #we can't spoil everything but we sure can hint at the angst #( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)#also now we can all know why the lady lives alone in hellgates #her spirit chose to dwell there #but her mother and sisters had already inherited dark forest #and hellgates came into existence to house those who chose evil in life #blah blah worldbuilding ya know #don't mean to bore ya #;3 #thank ye for readin #Redwall Hell #text #fanfic #the Lady #Leda #the Lady's sisters #Redwall Hell lore

17 notes · View notes

theredwallrecorder · 7 years

Text

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) pt 2

Huh. For the first time in forever I don’t actually know what to say here. I guess... stuff goes down? Martin and company find out that Hellgates isn’t all sand and brimstone. It’s a fox-eat-woodlander kind of place, where nothing is as it seems. I hear the god of that realm has it in for Martin. Really bad blood, you get me? I’m surprised Vulpuz hasn’t shattered the gates of Dark Forest just to get at him.

And let me tell you, the Great Vulpuz goes for the jugular.

Please enjoy Redwall Hell: The Anime pt 2, this time featuring Martin sass, a little magic, totes foreshadowing, and madness. Vulpuz has that in droves, see. He can’t help but share. They say sharing is caring, but there is such a thing as too much. All that sharing will attract her attention.

Here’s part 1 for those who have no idea what’s going on.

Also I oughta mention that I can’t take credit for all of Redwall Hell’s awesomeness. @raphcrow pretty much started this, and @thegoldensoundtwice is my partner in Redwall Hell crime. Bless you mateys for keepin’ the fires burning. <3

@fuzzhugs Martin vs. Hell, huh? Hell is a fox, mate, and that fox is REAL.

- - - - - -

Martin and his friends were speechless. The white fox remained seated upon Badrang’s old throne, watching them with an intense, almost unnerving curiosity. He flexed first one paw and then the other, each of his movements oddly erratic, as though he had been sitting waiting for them here for an age and a day, and since they had finally arrived, every last vestige of his pent-up energy could now be focused upon them. His gaze was sharp but distracted, constantly shifting from one of the company to another, and he seemed unable to sit still in his seat. Despite the constant fidgeting, he remained silent.

Confused by the fox’s baffling behavior, Martin struggled to find his voice. A feeling of mighty dread gripped his heart within his chest, and he suddenly became intimately aware of the fact that his best friends stood just behind him. Steeling himself, Martin locked eyes with the reclining vermin.

“I—”

A bemused giggle cut off the warrior mouse’s comment. The white fox shifted his weight to one side, his tail flicking dismissively. “Oh, do forgive me, mouse,” he quipped, unable to mask the dripping sarcasm in his tone. “Sometimes I find my merriment too difficult to contain! Pray, continue.”

His brow furrowed, Martin attempted to speak once more.

“Who—”

This time the fox guffawed aloud, only managing to halt his laughter by clamping both paws firmly around his mouth. It took a few moments for him to regain control of himself. Martin and his companions shifted uneasily.

“Goodness me, what trouble this gaiety has caused!” the fox declared to himself after he had relinquished his grip on his snout. His expressive voice danced across the ocean breeze, each syllable over-emphasized with curious whimsy. “I actually do care to hear what you have to say, Martin, so if you would grant me a second forgiveness, I promise you I will do all in my power to listen with grave reverence.”

Martin sensed the fox was mocking him, but he tried a third time all the same.

“Who are—”

The fox burst into uncontrollable laughter, echoes of gleeful insanity ringing out into the salty air. Lacking any sort of restraint, he gave full vent to his rude humor, bending forward in his seat and slapping his thigh repeatedly. Martin and his friends had no idea what to do. They waited in awkward silence until the fox’s merriment subsided. He dabbed at his eyes with a corner of his cloak, his chest heaving with exertion.

“Ah, bless me. This is more than I could ever had conjured, even if I had spent an age and a day building the perfect scheme.” The fox was all smiles as he gestured to Martin and his company. “Greetings and welcome! Come closer now, and make yourselves comfortable. I have so much I’ve been wanting to tell you!”

The six friends hesitated. Out of the corner of his mouth Gonff muttered, “Ah, don’t anybeast step backwards now, mates. The passage we just came out of is gone, and it’s a sheer drop to the channel below!” The abrupt news that their only escape route had vanished was startling, but the fox spoke again before any of them could react further.

“It is rude to whisper in company before a stranger, Prince of Mousethieves,” he chastised, eyes glittering with contained malice. “Of course the passage is gone. You cannot leave this place unless I will it.”

“Tell us who you are, fox,” Felldoh challenged, “before you attempt to amuse us with empty threats.”

The white fox rested his head in one paw, pinning the warrior squirrel in place with his intense gaze. “Felldoh the Wrestler. Oh, pardon, it’s just Felldoh isn’t it,” he admonished, lip curling upwards in a scornful sneer. “You see before you a vermin, but this one is far more than a mere beast.” The fox leaned forward upon his throne like a maniacal despot surveying his subjects. He spoke slowly, accentuating each word with deadly precision, his voice as cold as midwinter’s frost.

“I am the Claw that Drags the Corpses of your enemies into the bowels of the earth. I am the Eye in the Night, a fountain of obscuring mist, perpetuating and piercing the darkness. I am the gnashing of teeth, the splintering of bone, the crack of the whip, the shriek of the chain, the squeal of drawn steel. I am the Prophet of Abominations. Haha! I am the bosom containing the void of solitude. And yet, I am the emaciated shadow that lingers on the eve of war, rising to become the Insatiable Great Maw that follows behind and swallows all you hold dear.” He paused to lick his lips, as if to blissfully sample the infernal rust left behind by his last spoken syllable. He offered Rose a cheeky wink before continuing. “But perhaps my names are too much for you to comprehend. Very well. To borrow the tongues of the living, I am… the Great Vulpuz.”

In one regal movement he rose from his seat, throwing his arms out to either side, indicating the blue sky, the quarry, and the expanse of rocky coastline below them. “Behold! One of my many domains. Such fond memories you have of this place, warrior,” he mused, turning to look at Martin with profound pity, his head shaking in disgust. “Though it was not the first stage of your many failures, I must assert that it was the most glorious. Ha ha! A kingdom for a rose! What a pleasure to delight in the folly of a warrior’s youth. Tell me, how is it that you can even find the strength to look upon her?”

A low rumble issued from deep within Dinny’s chest. The normally peaceable mole flexed his digging claws aggressively as he and Gonff drew up behind Martin. A scowl wreathed the mousethief’s face, the sunlight reflecting off the knife he had just drawn playing across his brow. “That’s mighty low, even for a fox,” he muttered dangerously. “Do you always insult the creatures you’ve just met?”

Laterose moved to respond in kind, but Martin stopped her with the gentle touch of his paw. He flashed the three of them a grateful smile before turning to face Vulpuz squarely, his voice as steady and strong as sandstone.

“There was a time I would have been baited by your words, but now I simply find them annoying. Release us to go our own way.”

“’Release us to go our own way!’” Vulpuz repeated in a mocking tone. “Hmph, what a contemptuous bundle of useless words! My answer to them is ‘no’, since I’ve only experienced a measly shred of the entertainment I intend to glean from you.” The fox drew himself up, steepling his claws together in front of his face. “Allow me to state my objectives plainly. You will never leave this place. The very instant you entered my realm, you gave up the ability to go your own way. You are now part of my collection, an object that I will toy with as I see fit. Clear your mind of all you knew of Dark Forest, for Hellgates is your new dwelling place.”

“You can’t stop us from leaving,” Laterose declared, her clear voice overflowing with confidence. “Being in your realm does not give you power over us!”

“Oh you miserable little maiden, how deeply you’re mistaken.”

With a derisive flourish Vulpuz vanished. His voice continued to issue from seemingly everywhere, eerie echoes bouncing off the quarried fragments of stone as Martin and his comrades formed up in a loose defensive circle, each of them straining to catch sight of the fox.

“I can only guess that you weren’t listening during my eloquent explanation. Very well, I’ll go over it once more. Picture this: There was a band of foolish woodlanders who traipsed into Hellgates. The Great Vulpuz made himself known to them, and because they were utterly ignorant, he chose to teach them according to his principles. His lessons were brief and highly effective, as demonstrated hence.”

An enormous slab of stone close to Gonff shuddered suddenly to life, hurling itself with brutal accuracy upon the unsuspecting mousethief. Gonff hardly had time to utter a muffled shout of surprise, for in the blink of an eye both stone and thief had disappeared into thin air. In the same moment there was a low rumbling sound, and the sand beneath Dinny and Grumm started to churn and heave violently. With breathless speed, the ground began to devour the two moles, their bass voices crying out in terror.

“Ee gurt sands, oh, burr no!”

“Miz Roser, Marthen, help!”

Rose caught hold of Grumm’s ladle, her footpaws scrabbling to find a suitable foothold against which she could brace herself. Without warning she sat down hard, Grumm’s ladle still clutched in one paw. The two moles had been completely swallowed, buried beneath unyielding stone and sand. Rose glanced up at Martin, her mouth wide open in shock. Quickly Martin helped her back onto her footpaws, Felldoh warily circling the area behind them.

The warrior squirrel was furious at having been caught unprepared. Gritting his teeth, Felldoh dropped his sling upon the ground. He hefted his spear in both paws and shouted into the sky.

“Coward! Show yourself!”

In an instant Vulpuz was standing before him. Laughing maniacally, the white fox struck Felldoh in the face with a fierce backpawed slap, causing the squirrel to lose his balance. He toppled backwards over the edge of the cliff, followed by the echoes of a terrible scream that slowly faded into horrified silence. His chilling deeds accomplished, Vulpuz sniffed disdainfully, bending to retrieve Felldoh’s spear from where it lay on the path. Effortlessly he snapped it in two. He flung the broken pieces over the cliff edge before turning to face Martin and Rose.

“I don’t always take care of the rubbish, but I’m very methodical when I do, wouldn’t you agree?” he inquired, a nasty sneer contorting his beautiful face.

“What did you do with my friends?” Martin growled. He maneuvered himself in front of Rose and brandished his sword. Behind him, Rose fitted a rock to her sling and began swinging it in steady arcs, her eyes trained on Vulpuz.

The ruler of Hellgates smote his forehead with an open paw. “And we are still not listening! No matter, I’ll be able to fix that for you. I took your friends out. Not for a stroll through Mossflower Woods, mind you. Can’t you see?” The fox cleared his throat forcefully. “Entering my realm was a poor leadership decision, mouse. You brought your friends into a trap. All the signs of a trap were there. Hahaha, but what does Martin the Warrior do? He ignores them! He takes note of the possibility of danger and he charges full tilt into it, dragging all those he loves along with him.” Vulpuz stalked regally towards the two mice, the brisk wind whipping his cloak about like a torn sail caught in a storm. The timbre of his voice rose to a maddening scream as the skies above them began to darken.

“You can’t escape what you’ve been, warrior! Even now, the wraith who has frolicked through the mists of your slain foes’ nightmares lingers in your shadow!”

Martin had heard enough. He shifted his weight, readying himself to strike. The white fox was laughing again, the air around him popping and fizzing, blurring the edges of his form. His arms were outstretched, taunting the warrior mouse, inviting him to attack. Martin exhaled and raised his blade, his field of vision narrowing as the whirring of Rose’s sling intensified behind him. Time seemed to stretch itself thin just as Martin leaned into his charge.

Then, a voice like steel striking stone carved a rift through the ecstatic tension.

“Enough, Vulpuz.”

13 notes · View notes

theredwallrecorder · 6 years

Photo

There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to all beasts. It is a dimension as vast as fan fiction and timeless as memes. It is the middle ground between good and evil, between mouse and mustelid, and it lies between the pit of a vermin lord’s fears and the summit of their knowledge. This is the dimension of obfuscation. It is an area which we call...

Redwall a la Youtube

Episode Ten: Time For Big Winkle War

Grab your nearest scream pillow and/or comfort object, friends, because the writers for this show are still Hellgates-bent on never allowing our heroic Missed-Highest to retrieve Margin the Worrier’s sword from the cruel fangs of Asthma Day Sauce. Instead, we are lovingly force fed a tangled mash of plot points from both Redwall and Mattimeo, along with a heaping helping of utter nonsense.

Margin, give us strength.

After finally receiving a “don’t die, kthxbai” blessing from Coneflower, Missed-Highest manages to walk approximately 1.34 kilometers from the Abee before a feathered plot device halts him in his progress. Bobak Sparrow brings news of yet another™ impending underground attack from Clooney, and Missed-Highest skedaddles back to Readwhile to warn his friends of this bold move. Why Bobak didn’t attempt to communicate with the creatures actually IN the Abee, we will never know, but the news only brings the Readwhilers more uncertainty. Our normally steadfast Constant is plagued with the desperate need to know exactly how many vermin may show up for the coming skirmish. The badgermum’s dilemma has only one solution: Bobak Sparrow and her nameless sidekick stupidly decide to go count the number of vermin in Clooney’s camp all by their lonesome.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem, as Clooney recently lost himself in the worst shroom trip this side of the River Most and his horde has been spending its down time playing hide and seek. Certain members have been getting restless, however. The remaining living members of Clooney’s old guard gather to plot against him, and we get our first instance of anybeast referring to Clooney as “his worship” (???). Their naughtiness is interrupted when Bobak and company arrive on the scene and make an enormous show of counting the horde’s numbers while simultaneously screaming and doing wheelies in midair. Obviously, Bobak is captured and, also obviously, news of this unfortunate happenstance is carried to Missed-Highest.

Everybeast in Readwhile can’t be bothered to help Missed-Highest rescue Bobak. They’re far too busy preparing for Clooney’s impending strike, or they simply don’t care about Bobak... it’s a little hard to tell which reasoning is more prominent. Missed-Highest, true to the lone wolf protag he is, rashly leaves Readwhile to fetch Margin’s sword please give us plot save his friend Bobak. His protagonist powers allow him to do just that, with a little help from the ruler of Hellgates, Vulpuz. Missed-Highest is given Vulpuz’s cloak as a token of their mutual 2v4 match-up, which he decides to pass on to Bazl. The cloak grants Bazl +1 charisma, nearly shattering the Readwhileverse as we know it, but the ever-wise Bazl channels his newfound abilities into slam poetry, sparing everybeast from imminent annihilation.

Maybe, just maybe, next time will be... Margin time.

#shout-out to the twilight zone #the first paragraph here is a parody of one of the openings #specifically 'the lonely' from september 1959 #this episode is so painfully filler that it just hurt to watch #but let me tell you #martin time made it worth it #Redwall a la Youtube #Redwall #Redwall TV Show #Redwall TV Series #Episode 10 #Episode Ten #Redwall Abridged Series #Season One #recorder's queue #MARTIN TIME LOL

16 notes · View notes

fuzzhugs · 7 years

Text

Siren Song: A Redwall Hell Fanfic

Any creature that met Bogfoot the rat and Embertail the fox soon had no doubt in their mind that they were a pair of foul creatures. Theft, extortion, murder. The vile pair had remorselessly committed every evil act a creature was capable of and yet still found ways to add to their notoriety. The vermin were making their way through the woodlands, searching for some new prey to torment.

“I’m gettin’ ‘ungry, Ember,” Bogfoot grunted to the fox. “Wheres we get some vittles?” Bogfoot was a creature of few words, largely due to his dim mental faculties, but also to his preference to express himself with the spiked club he carried.

“Patience, Boggy,” Embertail replied, “There’s bound to be some lone woodlander nearby, and they always have their homes filled with all sorts of goodies.” Embertail licked at his teeth as he thought about the food he would find. He was just as hungry as Bogfoot, but the fox knew he wouldn’t get far if he listened to his stomach more than his head, and his head told him he needed Bogfoot. Embertail may have had brains, but he was weak compared to other creatures his size. Bogfoot was useful when muscle was needed.

Embertail pawed at the dagger stored in the waistband of his kilt, hoping he’d be able to use it that day.

Around midday, the pair entered a large clearing after following a well-worn trail through the underbrush. They were half-way across when Embertail’s keen eyes spotted someone at the other end. He held out his paw to silently stop his partner and pointed toward the unidentified creature.

Bogfoot untied the club from his belt and weighed it in his paws. Embertail rolled his eyes.

“A little subtlety would be better here, Boggy,” Embertail told his associate. “A single creature will not possess an abundance of food, but I’m sure some precise persuasion will incline him to reveal where some might be.”

Bogfoot thought for a moment. “Wha?” he asked dully.

Embertail huffed. Bogfoot tried his patience at times, but that was the price of an unquestioning minion. “We get them. Force them to take us to where there’s lots of food. Got it?”

Bogfoot nodded. “No clubbin’?”

“Not right now. Maybe later.”

When Embertail and Bogfoot got closer, the identity of the creature became clearer: Mouse. Female. Young.

Remaining silent, the vermin drew closer. Surprising her would give them the advantage.

Half-a-score of paces away, Embertail’s ears perked up. The mousemaid was singing to herself. Her voice was…intoxicating. Listening to her was like soaking in a river on a hot day and sitting by a fire on a cold night, at the same time. It felt like heat was welling up inside of him. He was relaxed and confident. The rest of the world seemed to fade as he continued to slowly step toward the mousemaid until his footpaws came to a halt on their own accord.

Rising, the mousemaid turned around to face Bogfoot and Embertail. “Hello there,” she said, her voice just as hypnotic as her song. “How do you do?”

“Very well, thank you,” Embertail replied cordially. He paused and shook his head, trying to clear the fog that and gathered. What was he doing? He needed to focus.

“What’s a little treat like you doing out here alone?” he looked at the basked the mousemaid carried. “Picking berries for your mama?”

“Indeed I am,” she said sweetly. “Mama makes the most delicious blackberry pies. Though I’m afraid I’ve picked too many berries. Would you gentlebeasts like to have some?”

“Certainly,” Embertail agreed reflexively, the fog filling his mind again as his voice answered on its own, “and maybe afterward we can help with the pie-making.”

“That would be lovely.”

The mousemaid shook the dust and dirt from her dress and stepped toward the fox and the rat with a graceful stride and gentle smile that would have seduced Vulpuz himself. She held the basket out toward them.

“Here you go. Have as many as you like. There are plenty.” She ran a paw down Embertail’s bare chest. “Handsome and strong creatures like yourself need to keep your strength up.”

Embertail shuddered as he felt her claws trailing down his hide. He sampled one of the berries and found it to be the sweetest thing he had ever eaten, as sweet as the mouse’s voice.

Bogfoot and Embertail eagerly dug into the basket of berries, taking a pawful of berries each. After they had each had a few, the mouse placed the basked onto the grass.

“Would you be so kind as to watch my basket for me? All those berries will make you thirsty, so I’ll go get some water from the stream.”

Embertail nodded between mouthfuls and watched as the mousemaid strode away. The berries were so good. He had to have more.

The mousemaid left the clearing and stopped behind a tree and waited. The berries had not been any simple blackberry. A few of them could be used to stop pains, but the pawfuls the vermin were scarfing down…well, they weren’t called graveberries for nothing. In another few minutes, they would fall into a sleep they would never wake up from, ready to be fed upon. The poison running through their veins was of no concern to the mousemaid; no poison could kill a demon.

A second mouse quietly dropped from the tree to stand beside the first, his impact made no sound and barely disturbed the grass. “I love watching you hunt, Rose,” Martin said to her as he smelled the breeze, searching for the scent of the vermins’ blood. “But I still prefer a chase.”

“If you’d prefer, I’ll take them both and you can find one for yourself,” Rose whispered as she nuzzled Martin’s neck, sneaking in an occasional gentle nibble.

“Ha, don’t you know better than to take food from a hungry animal?”

“I think I’ve tamed this animal…or can you resist my voice?”

“I can escape from your influence, yes,” Martin said, “but I could never resist your voice.”

“Flatterer,” Rose teased. “Dinner should be ready by now. You want the fox or the rat?”

“I’ll take whichever you don’t.”

Both vermin were lying dead on the ground, still grasping the berries that had been slowly killing them.

“I’ll admit,” Martin said, “it is rather nice when prey comes to you. Would they have eaten these if you hadn’t suggested it?”

“No, they had their minds on other things.”

“What do they see when you…enthrall them?”

“They still see everything as it is,” Rose smiled, “but their entire focus is on me and listening to what I say. They become highly susceptible to to my commands. They’ll believe anything I say.”

“Would you ever use that on me?” Martin asked as he sat next to the fox, relieving the corpse of the knife in his kilt.

“No,” Rose reached down and massaged Martin’s shoulders. “You’re much more fun when you’re unpredictable.”

#redwall #redwall hell #dark!martin #siren!rose #martin the warrior #laterose #rose of noonvale #redwall fanfiction

18 notes · View notes

theredwallrecorder · 7 years

Text

The Legend of Willow Slay, Part 10 - Art of Life

Looking up to the crimson leaves falling from the autumn sky, I have the feeling I'm being called by someone. Yes, by someone. I'm certain it was the voice of the only kind person That cried for my being asleep here.

- from “The Spirit Puppet, or Rather Her Love and Resuscitation”

~ ~ ~ ~

*whispers* So uh... I’m the reason for the hiatus in Willow Slay fics. S-sorry...

I can’t even begin to describe how honored I am to have the opportunity to contribute to Willow Slay’s story. There is something very special about taking a world you love and adding to it, especially when the tale carries elements of your own story. I see pieces of you in Willow, @thegoldensoundtwice. I sincerely hope with every fiber of my being that I have done her justice, matey. <3

Upon special request, here’s yet another my contribution/love letter/friendship ballad/blood contract to and with golden and @raphcrow and every matey who has gifted even the smallest bit of support to the insanity that has become the Redwall Hell AU. I notice your noticing and I am deeply grateful.

Please enjoy The Legend of Willow Slay, Part 10: Art of Life, in which the Great Deceiver attempts to show off his art, severely underestimating the power of friendship love. A lie carries terrible force, especially when it was born of a fragment of truth. Isn’t it strange how we tell ourselves the most creative lies? Sometimes, it takes the gentle voice of another to remind us of the whole truth.

Here’s the link to part nine of this story, in case anyone is curious. The photo on the right in the fifth image pair at this link is what the Lady is wearing during this fic (the Lady’s clothes brought to you by the jaw-droppingly gorgeous face of raphcrow *muah~*). Here is your mood music [1], [2], [3], here is the song that inspired the subtitle of this fic, and here is a song that sounds strangely similar to the one the gentle voice sings for her friends.

- - - - - -

A cloud of anxious tension hovered over the motely group assembled near the entrance gate to the Redwall Hell nightclub, the mood magnified by the melancholy drizzle of rain that had begun to fall from the murky, predusk sky. Tuskan crouched in the shadow of a massive rambling rosebush, ignoring the heavy droplets of water dripping down onto his head. He was closely watching the figure of Vulpuz lingering just outside the gate. The sodden fox had allowed himself to become almost fully engulfed by thorned vines, the natural guardians of the Lady’s lands. For a short time, he halfheartedly struggled against the constricting plants, the merciless thorns tearing off pieces of his fur and flesh.

“Must you insist on having your houseplants restrain me?” he inquired, voice dripping with sarcasm. “If you couldn’t tell, I am experiencing significant difficulty moving my limbs. This is hardly setting up to be a fair fight.”

The Lady shook a few water droplets from her radiant skirt, scattering dappled patterns of refracted light on the damp ground around her. “We have urgent business to attend to, hence the nightclub is now closed. Regular hours of operation will resume upon our return. You may come back another day, when I am willing to entertain you.”

Vulpuz frowned, flicking water off his nosetip with a toss of his head. “Actually, I think I’ll stay.”

The vines encircling the Great Vulpuz disentangled themselves from his body, retreating meekly back into the earth. The Lady and her company watched in stunned silence as the white fox straightened up, a curious light shining in his eyes. He began plucking broken thorns from his bloodied coat. “Isn’t the power to change one’s will a marvelous thing?” he mused, brushing debris off his cloak. “I came with the intent to destroy, but I have just now identified my purpose in being here.”

Vulpuz tossed away the last thorn and raised his head. Like an invisible arrow finding its target, Vulpuz directed the force of his will upon Willow Slay. The mink had been monitoring her own breathing, fighting to maintain her awareness against the ever-present call of the siren of bloodwrath. She felt the staggering increase in Vulpuz’s attention the second it shifted to her. The white fox’s scrutinizing weighed heavily on her, not unlike the looks of murderous bloodlust she once garnered in life. But Willow knew how best to deal with such rabble. She rolled her shoulders experimentally and exhaled, preparing to summon her beloved sword into her paw. However, the blade collapsed unheeded to the earth once it appeared. Willow’s mental focus had been broken.

For the first time since she had heard another creature’s bloodsong, utter silence confronted her soul. She could hear nothing, not even the gentle dampened flutter of the raindrops pattering against her ears. It was as though all sound had been swept away, leaving her standing in horrid stillness before the ruler of Hellgates. She felt the pulsing thunder of her heart pounding within her ribs, but no song issued forth from it. In panic, she pressed both paws against her chest. Her heart was there, of course, but it was mute, its voice stolen by some phantom thief. And there was only one thief in her midst.

Briefly, Willow met Vulpuz’s gaze. For eons to come, she was left with the distinct impression that his eyes had smiled at her, but her vision quickly shifted to encompass a figure that had appeared beyond the white fox. In the distance stood a brawny otter clothed in a long, belted tunic. A cowl hung over his head, shrouding the upper part of his face in shadow. Motionless, he watched Willow from afar, the rain dripping from the fringes of his garment. An ache from ages past suddenly tugged at Willow’s heart. Had she known this creature? Recognition struck her like a thunderbolt when the stranger brushed the hood off his head. An expression of deep sorrow and lingering regret painfully contorted the otter Fleck’s handsome face. A wave of guilt and concern washed over Willow, butterflies of confusion and doubt fluttering frantically in her stomach. Fleck? Fleck was here? She was relieved that he had come in answer to her calling, but why was he so grieved? Utterly forgetting herself and her friends, Willow stumbled ahead, her voice a desperate cry, “Fleck!”

Like the climactic events of a terrible comedy, several things happened all at once. The Lady, recognizing the foul intent of the illusion beckoning to Willow, reached out a paw to clasp the mink’s shoulder. It was a vain attempt. Willow slipped out of her grasp, breaking into a run when the image of Fleck turned his back to her and began to walk away. A gasp caught in Nivedita’s throat, her words eerily jarring as she lurched forward, shouting a warning, “Willow, wait!” The Wearet, now fully formed, gathered itself in an enormous leap and bounded towards Willow, intending to tackle her before she reached the gate. Tuskan emerged from the cover of the rosebush, prompted into action by Nivedita’s heart-rending call. He sprinted up next to her in time to watch in shocked silence as Willow breezed through the gate, the Wearet’s paw harmlessly grazing the tip of her tail. A moan of anguish escaped the Wearet’s scarred muzzle, his massive form hitting the ground with an indelible thud. Not one of them had successfully kept Willow from passing the outer threshold of the nightclub, the boundary line of the Lady’s sphere of protection against the waiting embrace of Vulpuz’s evil power.

Willow’s momentum carried her several paces away from the gate before she slowed to a walk, her movements uncharacteristically stiff and jerky. She said nothing, her mesmerized gaze fixed on the fading figure of Fleck. She would have continued walking had Vulpuz not side-stepped into her path. Willow came to an abrupt halt like a creature ordered to stand at attention, her posture uncomfortably straight and rigid. Grinning from ear to ear, Vulpuz drew alongside her.

“My silence beckons you,” he whispered. “Come. Let us speak in private, as two beasts who intimately understand one another.”

- - - - - - -

Willow Slay was alone, hopelessly consumed by the riotous tide of red mists that constituted her bloodwrath world. Unable to stem the flow of tears trickling down her cheeks, the mink curled up into a tight ball, abandoning herself to her sorrow. She had given up fighting to push the lingering images of Fleck from her mind. The grief written clear across his face. The decisive, forlorn manner with which he had slowly turned his back on her. How he had refused to even cast one glance over his shoulder as she chased after him, her very soul screaming for him to wait for her. With every fiber of her being she had begged him to stay, and he had denied her. She bit her lip, wallowing in the wretched pain of Fleck’s rejection. He was right, though. After what she had done… how could he have chosen any different? She felt as though she would tear herself apart, her emotions blitzing around her like a howling gale, the red mists churning ceaselessly, threatening to engulf her.

“Child, are you unwell?”

The voice banished the tumult surrounding Willow, and she found herself sitting upon an undisturbed sea of red, her red. Taken aback, the mink rubbed at her tear-stained cheeks with both paws. Several feet away from her stood an elaborate crimson throne, its regal shape framed by a monstrous crimson cloudbank hovering over the horizon at the edge of the world. Vulpuz reclined upon this throne, his brow creased with concern. Idly, he traced a curving arch through the blood coating the armrest of the seat, his voice disarmingly soft.

“Hmm,” he pondered aloud. “Not quite as thick as mine, but the color is far more vibrant.” His eyes flicked up to meet Willow’s. “It suits you.”

Willow froze, her mouth falling open in shock. The bloodwrath realm was hers to frequent as was her wont, and yet, sitting before her now was the last creature she would have thought to see. She scrambled to her footpaws, words tumbling from her lips, “You…? What…? This is… How can you be here?” The implication of his commentary dawned on her, and she lowered her guard in disbelief. “You… too?”

Vulpuz let his head fall back against the chair in a gesture of resignation. “I rarely ever speak of it,” he sighed, running a paw through his headfur. “Of the multitude of vermin that scratch and claw their way across this Hell, it would surprise you how few of them have been tainted by bloodwrath. It is almost solely the property of badgerkin, though there are a few exceptions, such as you and I. Nobeast can understand this power unless they have wielded it, fathomed how corrosive and raw it is, like a wellspring of rancid blood eternally boiling at the back of one’s throat. But enough pretty speech.” The fox straightened his posture, regarding Willow with omniscient interest.

“I am told the one you love has just crossed into these latter realms. Is this not so?”

Willow eyed the white fox warily, her instincts warning her to be cautious. Vulpuz chuckled at the change in her demeanor. “So I see it is true. And now you are on your way to unite with him, yes? One last glimpse before the light of Dark Forest takes him from you forever?”

“I…” Willow’s voice trailed off into uncertainty, revealing the shadows of doubt clouding her heart.

Vulpuz shifted to one side, cradling his chin in one paw. “Ah, I see. You don’t know what you’ll find when you find it, do you? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe I caught something about going to see the Badger Council. How kittish,” he scoffed. “What do you think they will do for you? Throw wide the gates of Dark Forest so a murderous mink might prostrate herself before an old love and beg forgiveness? You must know what a foolish hope you harbor.”

Vulpuz stretched his paw out over the sea of blood. Muddled shapes rose from the crimson liquid, congealing to form the exquisite likenesses of the badger Lords and Ladies of Salamandastron from seasons of history. The white fox pulled a comical face at them. “Behold, the dunderheads of the Badger Council. I have known these stoic beasties for spans of time beyond your reckoning. Wouldn’t you know, not once have they shown themselves to be charitable. They are an entity of justice, mink. Did you think that because you were accompanied by the Lady you would receive some special treatment? Your coat is just as bloodstained as the next vermin’s.”

“As if I wasn’t already aware,” Willow stated hotly. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

A mischievous smirk pulled at the corners of Vulpuz’s mouth. “Very well.” He stood up forcefully, dismissing the crimson throne with the wave of a paw. “Here is how your little adventure will play out. You will be turned away from the gates of Dark Forest without so much as a ‘how do’. The Badger Council will not grant you entry. You will not see your beloved before he enters in to his inheritance. Everything you are laboring to do now will be for nothing, unless…”

Willow hesitated. “Unless what?” she pressed.

“Unless you use what you have to your advantage, of course.”

- - - - - - -

The Lady was furious at the unfolding of Vulpuz’s treachery. Her amber eyes flashed with solar fire, the golden material of her skirt rippling in waves about her. With the gesture of one paw she wiped the nightclub’s silver gate out of existence and cleared the surrounding area of all obstructions, creating an ample battleground.

“How dare you use Willow’s beloved as the object of a most foul deception,” she growled, pointing an accusing paw at Vulpuz. “Step away from my cherished Whetstone, and while you’re at it, release your hold on her immediately.”

Vulpuz swaggered past Willow’s statuesque form and shrugged, feigning ignorance. “There really is nothing I can do. I did indeed draw her to me with my art, but she entered her bloodwrath realm of her own choosing. I would be loath to interfere, to trespass on so sacred a ground.” He turned to face the Lady, flashing her a grin of purest malice. “And who knows? The bloodwrath world could present something awful to her, something that would most assuredly push her over the edge. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

The hollow sound of ringing metal heralded the appearance of the Lady’s axe from thin air. She surveyed the weapon with an approving eye as it floated inches above her upturned paws. “Do not think your carefully woven lies have fallen on fertile soil,” she said, her voice like chips of ice in a storm. “I know you care not to observe obeisance for anything that does not belong to you. You are in there with her. I can guess what types of trickery and deceit you intend to weave over her mind. I will only tell you this one more time: Dismiss your illusion.”

The Great Vulpuz stuck out his tongue playfully, his tail flicking back and forth. “No, I don’t think I will…”

The Lady moved, a blur of color in motion so swift it was impossible to track her progress. Steel clashed upon steel, and suddenly the Lady and Vulpuz were face to face with each other, the Lady’s stoic war axe grating against Vulpuz’s deadly shaska. The Great Vulpuz licked his lips with pleasure, his nose barely an inch away from the tip of the Lady’s snout.

“Swift to anger, are we, vixen?” he chided mockingly, fangs bared in wild glee. “What do you care? She’s just a throwaway mink. You should have devoured her power ages ago, and yet you continue to ignore that which lies within your grasp.”

The Lady glared at Vulpuz through a gap created by their crossed blades. “I will not stand and idle while you attempt to manipulate Willow to your will.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing? Haha, wrong again!” Vulpuz cackled, his voice cracking. “I am changing her perspective. You’ve kept her sedated for too long, vixen, and I haven’t forgotten how you stole the Wearet from me. I desire this pound of flesh for my own amusement, and in My Name I shall have it.”

With a powerful heave Vulpuz broke their stalemate. The Lady danced backwards out of his reach, watching him carefully in case of a counterattack. The white fox’s panting had grown heavier, and he crouched low to the ground, cocking his head to the side so he could behold his opponent with one eye. An unbearably hot breeze blew across the clearing, whipping the drizzling rain into tufts of billowing steam. Vulpuz coughed and straightened to his full height, pointing his sword at the Lady.

“If you so much as try to stop this, I will drive that whelp without mercy before the voracious wave of my revenge. She will drown in the embrace of her bloodwrath, and she will never regain herself again. Have I made myself unspeakably clear?”

- - - - - - -

Willow huffed impatiently. She was tired of Vulpuz’s coy wordplay, her exhausted mind begging for a moment of solitude. The fatigue was stoking her temper. “Get to the point, fox,” she spat. “You’re boring me.”

Vulpuz indulged in a leisurely stretch. He sauntered over to the figures depicting the members of the Badger Council, turning his back to the mink. His next words tore into Willow like a hail of knives, “Pray, humor my curiosity, child. Do you genuinely believe he wants to see you?”

A lump formed in Willow’s throat. She stared down at the crimson fluid lapping at her footpaws, blinking back tears. Vulpuz had found her secret fear, a gnawing dread that had been her bosom companion through the blood-flecked days and endless dark nights. Truly, she longed to see Fleck, but how would he react? Through the seasons, she had considered hundreds of ways their reunion could go, but the heavy silhouette of her guilt had gradually drained each scenario of hope. She wasn’t sure if she deserved to see him again.

Vulpuz hungrily observed Willow’s reflection in the eyes of the statue closest to him. He was beyond thrilled. He had finally found the crack in the mink’s tough exterior. Ignoring the badger sculptures, the fox began to pace menacingly around the stricken Willow, reveling in the cruel power his suggestions had over her. “What if, shall we say, he doesn’t care to see you? He would be within his rights to desire nothing to do with you. Have you ever considered that his life may have devolved into one misery after another because of what you had done? Remember, you took everything from him, including his own father. Perhaps he came to hate you, swearing vengeance against you until his dying day. Who can say what manner of effect time may have had on his emotions? The seasons change, as do hearts.” Vulpuz paused to let the magnitude of his words sink in. “You may be selfishly chasing a shadow, child. What if, across the tapestry woven by his life, he fell in love with another?”

The memory of Fleck walking away flashed into Willow’s mind. Though her voice wavered, she answered Vulpuz defiantly, “That doesn’t matter! I… I have to try to make things right. I have to offer everything I am to him. Even if he chooses not to listen, I owe him whatever closure he might want, even if…” she swallowed, “even if it means he never wants to see me again.”

“Hmph. I’m almost disappointed in you. Can’t you hear yourself?” Vulpuz curled his lip at Willow in disgust. “How pitifully submissive and weak you sound. Tears and entreaties won’t get you through the gates of Dark Forest, min—”

“Then what will?!”

The force of Willow’s shout shattered the effigies of the members of the Badger Council, scattering glassy chunks of coagulated blood across the surface of the sea. Half of one of the statue’s proud faces went spinning through the air to land unceremoniously at Vulpuz’s footpaws. The ruler of Hellgates regarded the broken piece with moderate disinterest.

“The answer to your conundrum is quite simple, really,” Vulpuz murmured. In an abrupt fit of rage, the fox stamped upon the fallen carving, crushing it to smithereens. The insignificant act of destruction seemed to lighten Vulpuz’s mood considerably. “Hahahaha! Did you see that, child?” He indicated the pile of sickly pinkish dust before it dissolved into the blood sea. “Therein lies the key to your desire. What need have you of prostrating yourself before the Badger Council?” Throwing both arms wide, Vulpuz delivered his proposition in a voice rumbling with authority, “Release your will to the mercy of the music. Take up the thorned crown of bloodwrath. Turn the threshold of Dark Forest into your stage and make them see you. Burst through those oaken gates in a blaze of power, and all you passionately hope for will become yours.” He offered Willow a conspiratorial wink, his tone mellowed, “If one already has the ability to do what one wishes, asking permission becomes unnecessary, wouldn’t you agree?”

- - - - - - -

The Lady and Vulpuz had reached a painful impasse. As swift and terrible as she could be in her element, the Lady knew better than to goad Vulpuz into a rage. The cunning fox had Willow in his clutches; with Willow in a state of relative susceptibility to the influence of bloodwrath, the Lady was wary of making the wrong move. She did not want to put Willow in any more danger than she already was.

The Lady flicked rainwater from her ears, her war axe bobbing gently up and down in the air beside her. Her options were limited. Vulpuz had lowered his blade and was now looking at her, a cruel smile playing about his lips. The Lady stiffened, certain that Vulpuz had something up his sleeve.

“Of course, I am not unreasonable, vixen,” Vulpuz began, “though I would like to enjoy the pleasure of this moment.” The white fox shoved his sword into its sheath and breathed deeply, exhaling in an obnoxious yawn. “Ah, how lovely it is to finally have an advantage over you. Your ward has proven to be of even more use to me than I could have imagined! But I must digress…” Vulpuz rudely jerked a paw over his shoulder. “I am willing to bargain for the sanity of this mink, whose piddling existence you hold so dear... as much as it disgusts me. What will you give me for her?”

“She is without price,” intoned the Lady.

“Oho, is that so? What shall it be, vixen?” Vulpuz taunted gleefully. “Shall I have you cough up the keys to your tavern of debauchery?” He shook his head. “No, let us match one prize for another. Allow me to propose a trade. The mink for the Wearet and her handler, hmm? I shan’t take the one without the other, seeing as how the female is damaged goods. I won’t hold it against her, however. I can sense her hardworking spirit even through this ghastly mist; no doubt she would serve me well.”

Acrid bile rose into the Lady’s throat. She wished to tear a gaping hole across Vulpuz’s chest, to unstitch his existence thread by incorporeal thread, but with dignity she remained still, her posture poised and regal. Dismissing her axe, the Lady inclined her head to Vulpuz and countered, “It is clear you still desire your pound of flesh. Very well. I offer myself.”

Vulpuz was stunned speechless. He stared open-mouthed at the Lady, his eyes threatening to burst out of his skull. Unimpressed, the Lady regarded Vulpuz with disdain.

“Are you not satisfied?”

One of Vulpuz’s paws wandered up to his snout, pushing his gaping jaw shut with the sharp retort of clasping teeth. “Oh my,” he purred, massaging his throat thoughtfully. “This is a prize I had not expected to win. And yet, how can I be assured of your goodwill in this exchange?”

“My word has yet to come undone, unlike yours,” the Lady retorted smoothly.

Vulpuz sucked in a breath. “Oooh. How callous the truth can be, especially delivered from your lips. Hahaha! I, the Great Vulpuz, accept your noble sacrifice!” With an elaborate flourish, the white fox unsheathed his sword, crooking an uncouth claw at the Lady. His wicked laughter conjured a rumble of thunder from the darkened sky.

“Step forth and receive your new master, vixen!”

- - - - - - -

Willow stared at Vulpuz, incredulous. She did not know what to think. The fox made his plan sound so ridiculously obvious, it was as if he were offering her the keys to Dark Forest on a crystal platter. Was it possible that she could channel her bloodwrath and fly defiantly in the face of consequence? Could she really pluck Fleck from Dark Forest like a Dibbun would pit a cherry?

She looked down at her paws. Bloodwrath had given her the power to accomplish many great and terrible feats in her lifetime. She had never hesitated to follow its music when the time came… yet, she felt reluctant to let its numbing ecstasy wash over her now. Bloodwrath had separated her from Fleck, so how would it bring them back together? It was too much for her tired soul to contemplate.

Vulpuz hungrily watched Willow struggle with her conscience. Every muscle in his body was tense, his mind coiled like a serpent prepared to strike. He was gambling on her, a bet he would never have dared to make unless he was sure to win. He wanted her to give in, to wield her bloodwrath to its full potential with no holds barred. If she could successfully distract the Badger Council long enough, he could slip into Dark Forest and have his way with its unsuspecting occupants. Biting his lip, his forced himself to be patient, beating back the screaming desire to vent his ire upon the indecisive mink. An idea presented itself to him in a moment of brilliance; delighted, Vulpuz drew alongside Willow.

“I wouldn’t spend what spare precious moments we have contemplating fate,” he warned. “Time is running out. The presence of your beloved grows faint.” Vulpuz stretched out his paw to her in a gesture of finality.

“Will you not go to him?”

- - - - - - -

Tuskan was completely at a loss for what to do. He felt crushed by the gravity of the struggle unfolding before him. There was nothing he could do to help. He wasn’t even totally convinced that he wanted to help. It baffled him, how the Lady was readily willing to offer herself for the mink who had just destroyed the place she called home. She made no sense. The foxes Tuskan knew were self-serving cutthroats, always ready to borrow your blade just so they could shove it twixt your ribs. The Lady was the opposite, a paragon of untamable energy who accepted the brunt of Willow’s outburst to protect the ones she loved. Knowing that a being of obvious benevolent power presided over the tavern he had frequented made Tuskan want to sit down and rethink his post-life decisions. Part of him wanted to get away, to return to the relative pseudo-safety of his rosebush, but even in the midst of such internal strife he was sure of one thing. He strongly felt he should stay by Nivedita’s side.

The female rat had not moved an inch. Her unblinking eyes were focused on the mists undulating before them, her paws tightly clenched at her sides. Tuskan figured she could sense what was going on even though they could not see it. He wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her in some way, but he was hesitant, caught up in the unpredictability of a fated dance to which he did not know the steps.

Confronted by his uselessness, Tuskan hung his head. He couldn’t even think of an encouraging word to offer Nivedita. She had protected him with her life when the nightclub collapsed, and he could only stand stupidly beside her. A deep sense of shame fell upon Tuskan. His ears and tail drooped towards the ground, his entire body bowed like a leaden weight. Hot tears began to slide down his cheeks, and he buried his face in his paws. Any courage he harbored previously now deserted him. His mind tumbled into a spiral of self-remonstration, assaulting him with negative thoughts. What a failure you are. Stupid, stupid idiot. Disappear, you don’t belong here. The nasty words menaced him like bullies, and he had no weapons with which to fight them. He could think of nothing to do but meekly accept the stinging barbs as fact. Just before he surrendered himself to the punishing spite of his thoughts, Tuskan was roused back into full awareness by the stirring of the lady rat next to him.

Nivedita was singing.

Tuskan could just barely make out her voice, mingling softly with the sound of the misty rain. It carried a childlike innocence to it, heady but wistful, the notes rising and falling as Nivedita weaved the story of her melody together. She sung in a language Tuskan only vaguely recognized, but the power of her voice prompted his soul to swell with emotion. Through the music he experienced her gut-wrenching concern for Willow, beheld her passion for the Lady, and contemplated her unshakeable hope that all would turn out well. A warm feeling blossomed in Tuskan’s chest, spreading outward through his limbs and banishing the shroud of misery from his heart. Listening to Nivedita’s song made Tuskan want to be brave. He flexed his paws and straightened, inhaling the humid air as if taking his first breath. He felt ready for anything.

Nivedita’s tune nosed through the mists, floating across the field and beyond the Lady. It carried with it an invitation to release, to abandon oneself to the beauty of the song. Smiling, the Lady turned her face to the sky and joined her voice with Nivedita’s, welcoming the relaxing embrace offered by the music. Their duet carried for a few lines before the Lady turned the melody back over to Nivedita. She marveled at how the tension had fled from her shoulders and the root of her tail. Her endurance renewed, the Lady looked across at the Wearet, who gurgled happily at her, kneading the soil with his claws like a contented cat. She threw back her head and laughed aloud, calling her axe to return to her side.

The timid rat’s voice swelled to fill the clearing, transitioning into bold crescendos as her courage grew. She paused after the delivery of the first stanza to glance over at Tuskan, who was watching her with a look of awe plastered across his homely face.

Vulpuz reacted to Nivedita’s song as though he’d been struck by lightning. The shashka fell from his grasp and he stumbled backwards, clutching his head in his paws. “How… how is she reaching her?! The mink’s bound in bloodwrath!” he fumed, incredulous. “Damn your crippled strumpet, vixen! I will not let her wrest this victory from me!” The Great Vulpuz threw up his arms and shouted into the sky, “Stop her! Stifle her infernal voice, or all will be lost!”

The unnerving sounds of excited chattering filled the air, issuing from the ground like infernal gossip. Shapes began to rise out of the muddy earth surrounding Vulpuz, jagged forms resembling dark-furred squirrels carrying crude stone axes. They swarmed around the ruler of Hellgates, laughing with maniacal glee and taking swings at each other with their archaic weapons. “The rat, you fools!” Vulpuz screeched, snatching the closest squirrel by the ear and shoving it in Nivedita’s direction. “Focus on the voice! Catch her and tear her apart!”

“A game! A game!” the squirrels cried in eerie unison. “Whoever catches her gets to play with her! Will it be you? Will it be me? Eeheehee, let’s see!” Fanning out into a semi-circle formation, the odd score of squirrels hurled themselves across the battlefield, each member kicking and scratching at its neighbor for a chance to win at their game.

Unpeturbed by the sound of the enemy charge, Nivedita launched into the next part of her song. Her melody exploded into life, the notes stretching and growing, drowning out the wild shrieks of the oncoming squirrels. As if in response to the music, a cooling breeze began to blow through the area, chasing the mist from the battlefield and offering Nivedita’s allies an unobscured view of their foe.

The two opposing forces met in a clash of thunder. The Lady spun in a graceful arc, greeting the front running squirrels with the business end of her axe. The bodies of all four toppled headless to the ground, her great cleave effortlessly slicing through bone and sinew. She pinned another squirrel against the trunk of a massive oak at the edge of the clearing, the unfortunate beast squirming the last vestiges of its life out upon the merciless tongs of her barbed trident. Returning from their spellbound slumber, the Lady’s spiked garden vines vigorously erupted from the soil. The vines snaked across the field, entangling and trapping many of the squirrels in a suffocating embrace from which there was no escape.

A feral roar heralded the arrival of the Wearet, who bulled into a clustered group of squirrels that were menacing the Lady, scattering them like ninepins. Undaunted, the Lady seemed to be everywhere at once, her axe tearing through enemies like a scythe through wheat. Alongside her, the Wearet pounced and lunged, snapping necks between his powerful jaws and tearing foes apart blow by blow. The lethal pair were an unstoppable whirlwind, dealing death to all within their reach. Almost as swiftly as the skirmish had begun, it seemed to be nearing its end.

One squirrel, more lucky than the rest, had managed to slip past every obstacle unscathed. The maniacal creature was rapidly approaching Nivedita, a dirty knife clenched between its yellowed teeth. The female rat continued singing, oblivious to the threat of danger barreling towards her.

Tuskan watched the squirrel draw closer as if in a dream. Time seemed to slow, and he became aware of oddly distinct details etched into each passing moment; flecks of spittle flying from one of the corners of the squirrel’s mouth, the hollow sound of his own breathing echoing through his ear cavity. His body felt oddly stiff and heavy. It was as though the drizzling rain was trying to drag him to the ground.

Out of nowhere a knife appeared from thin air. The jeweled object floated before him, its blade gleaming in the muted light. Confused, he stared at the knife until the disembodied command of the Lady broke through his stupor.

“Take up the weapon, she needs you!”

Startled and mildly shaken, Tuskan stumbled forward, plucking the knife from the air. He very nearly dropped it when the Lady’s voice once again ricocheted around inside his skull, “Defend her!”

Gritting his teeth, he mouthed the echoing words to himself with grim determination.

“Defend her!”

Instinct took over, and with the speed born of precision Tuskan leapt in front of Nivedita, dropping into a solid crouch. He gripped the Lady’s knife in both paws, tilting its keen edge slightly upwards. It was too late for the squirrel to halt its charge. With a howl of anguish squirrel and blade met, and the last of Vulpuz’s dark soldiers was vanquished.

- - - - - - -

Vulpuz’s inviting paw beckoned to Willow. She was seriously considering accepting it when her ears detected the sound of somebeast singing off in the distance. Distracted, Willow turned to find the source of the music when a passing blur of whitish-brown fur nearly broadsided her. The abrupt, sharp retort of wood cracking against bone sounded loud and clear. Stunned by the pain blooming throughout his paw, Vulpuz retreated away from the figure menacing him with its cane.

“Touch ‘er an’ I’ll gut ye, serpent’s tongue!”

Willow was shocked. The misty figure of her father, the Skipper of Otters, had appeared between her and Vulpuz. Skipper growled dangerously at the ruler of Hellgates, hunching his back and shoulders.

“Ye spit nothin’ but lies. M’daughter won’t never lissen to ye, cos she knows better ‘n’ to ‘eed the foolish words of a two-toned toad!” Chortling, his tone softened when he turned to address Willow, “I love ‘ee, shrimp. Like I always learned ye, follow yer ‘eart but remember yer mind. Come’n see yer old pater someday, eh?”

The form of the Skipper of Otters faded from view, only to be replaced by that of two other familiar otters. Bark Nip and Kelp’s uproarious laughter danced across the notes of the song floating through the air. The happy pair blew flirtatious kisses at a mystified Willow before they joined paws to face Vulpuz.

“Back off, fox!” the otters cried in joyful unison. “This ‘un’s too good for you!”

Vulpuz recoiled as if he had been struck again. He was beginning to lose his grip on the realm of Willow’s bloodwrath, an occurrence he could not tolerate if his plan was to proceed to fruition. Snarling, he aimed a swift kick at Bark Nip, only to find that the otter couple was no longer there. Instead, an old, grey-furred mouse glared at Vulpuz severely, his headfur slightly disheveled from the passing of Vulpuz’s footpaw. The lenses of his crystal spectacles reflected the red of the blood sea, giving the Abbot of Redwall Abbey a menacing appearance.

Clearing his throat, Abbot Dogwood addressed Vulpuz in a no-nonsense tone, “If you wished to kick me, you should have aimed lower,” he sniffed. “I have been told you are telling my dear Willow some utterly ridiculous rubbish, and I am here to set things straight.” A smile crept across the Abbot’s face while he continued, “Never has one been more worthy to grace the halls of Redwall Abbey. This mink is no vermin, like you. She is a daughter of Mossflower Wood, loved by all who know her, and there is nothing you can do or say that would make her any less than the warrior she is.”

Nodding to Willow, the Abbot bowed regally and disappeared. The music swelled to a broadening crescendo, coaxing the flat blood sea into gently lapping waves. Willow wasn’t sure who to expect next, but she almost cried aloud with happiness when a playful giggle heralded the arrival of Nivedita. The lady rat curtsied to Willow and then to Vulpuz, moseying over to the latter like a curious Dibbun. Nivedita beckoned to the ruler of Hellgates, pantomiming that she had a secret to tell him. Confused, Vulpuz inclined his head to her. A look of utter surprise flashed across his face when she patted him gently on his snout.

“Mister Vulpuz, please tell my Willow the truth,” she requested innocently. “The truth is that our Lady’s nightclub wouldn’t be what it is without her. We all care for her so much, and this is our chance to show it, to help her find her way to her beloved one. She always gives abundantly of herself; we want to return her selflessness a thousand-fold, to love her as she has loved us.”

Nivedita glanced back at Willow. There were tears shining in Nivedita’s eyes even as her figure dissipated, but the smile on her face was one of love unbound for her friend. Willow felt her lower lip beginning to quiver. The outpouring of support from those whom she had cared for was almost too much for her to take in. She felt layers of her fatigue peeling away, the anger and uncertainty morphing into peace, steadfast courage, and resolve.

Opposite from her, Vulpuz was in a state of panic, his mind desperately searching for some solution to the mounting problem of his impeachment. His panic quadrupled when the imposing form of the Lady rose from the depths of the frothy blood sea. The vixen’s image smirked piteously at him.

“Willow Slay is my strong left paw, perilous in battle and without equal in her kitchens,” she said, her mighty voice carrying across the surface of the deep. “You will not have her, nor will you use her for the fulfillment of your own selfish desires. She is the property of none but herself, and you would be wise to stand still in awe of her, a soul aflame in defiance of those who wished her evil. She has lived and loved, suffered and slain, desired and died! Thus has she laid claim to eternity, and thus have I chosen her to be my Whetstone, the one who sharpens my spirit!”

The Lady’s effigy burst in a shower of red droplets, tainting Vulpuz’s white fur with crimson streaks. Appalled, Vulpuz frantically tried to scrub the stains from his coat, but it was a meaningless effort. A grim voice caused the fox to freeze mid-stroke.

“Oi, fox.”

The otter Fleck had come to occupy the space between Willow and Vulpuz. His imposing figure radiated quiet strength. Without warning he leapt at the Great Vulpuz, his open paw contacting the fox’s face. With a cataclysmic whoosh, Fleck drove Vulpuz bodily against the surface of the blood sea, sending a wave of crimson liquid rocketing skyward. The otter warrior stood over the fallen ruler of Hellgates like a conqueror, the hood of his tunic swept back to reveal teeth bared in a roguish grin.

“Let her hear my answer with her own ears.”

Fleck’s spirit disappeared and the music ended in resounding echoes of grace. A jolt of understanding shot through Willow, and in a trice she knew how she had been lead to this place. She glowered at Vulpuz, who was attempting to stand after the brutality of Fleck’s assault. The fox had been soaked through, his iridescent fur matted with blood. Though he could feel its intensity, he refused to meet Willow’s piercing stare.

“That wasn’t Fleck I saw,” she accused, laughing bitterly. “That was you, wasn’t it? You tricked me.”

Vulpuz sucked in a painful breath. “I showed you what you wanted to see,” he hissed.

“You showed me what could be, not what is,” Willow corrected. “And I believed you. I would have listened to you, too, were it not for…” She paused, holding a grateful paw to her heart. “I do want to hear what Fleck has to say. I want to hear it from him, not from you. To do that, there’s someplace I need to be right now, and that’s fighting you alongside my Lady and ‘Dita.” There was a great sucking noise, and a massive, roiling wave of blood reared out of the sea behind her. Trapped in the wave’s enormous shadow, Vulpuz realized he had nowhere to run. Frozen in place, he could do nothing but cower as Willow delivered her ultimatum in a voice that could splinter diamonds.

“Get out of my head.”

The wave came down with the force of a collapsing mountain, stifling Vulpuz’s infuriated scream and banishing the ruler of Hellgates from Willow’s bloodwrath realm.

- - - - - - -

Her song complete, Nivedita took off at a loping hobble the moment she sensed that Willow had regained herself. Her spirit of urgency surprised Tuskan. He stumbled after her, the Lady’s knife falling forgotten from his grasp. Sheepishly Tuskan offered Nivedita his arm, and she accepted it with an appreciative nod. Her limp inhibited their progress, and the pair did not make it very far before the Wearet was beside them, scooping both rats up onto his broad back. The great beast swiftly covered the distance in leaps and bounds, tearing up the soil beneath his churning claws. He landed on all fours before Willow, bombarding her with clumps of wet earth. Breathless from the thrill of the ride, Nivedita tumbled into Willow’s waiting arms, her laughter shattering the somber mood.

“You’re back! You’re back!” Nivedita cried, nuzzling Willow’s neck with her nose.

“Yes, I am,” admitted Willow, “thanks to you.”

“What?” Nivedita’s bright gaze searched the mink’s face. “But it was all you!”

“Your song helped me see, ‘Dita. I’d still be listening to Vulpuz’s lies if you hadn’t sung to me.”

The female rat was astonished. “How… did you know it was me, singing?”

Willow lowered her forehead until it was pressing against Nivedita’s. “I knew,” she breathed. “I knew. Thank you.”

Nivedita was practically purring with happiness. The rat and mink paused, each enjoying the warm embrace of the other’s soul. Their cuddle was swiftly interrupted by the delighted gurgle of the Wearet, who attempted to curl his entire body around all three of them. It was a light-hearted moment of respite from the tense battle they had narrowly won.

Relieved, Willow had almost fully relaxed her guard when a terrible screeching sound assaulted her mind. The presence of a fathomless bloodlust became known to her, its depth and ferocity nearly stealing her breath away. Horrified, she glanced up to see past Nivedita’s head and caught sight of Vulpuz charging towards them. His mouth was wide open, teeth glistening as he hurled himself forward on all fours. This was a completely different Vulpuz from the malicious jester that had tempted her in her bloodwrath. His left eye shone with crimson fire, his sword and cloak utterly left behind in a fit of wrathful madness. Thinking quickly, Willow moved to shield Nivedita and Tuskan in the same second the Lady arrived. The vixen threw herself into Vulpuz’s path, bringing him to a sliding halt. Snarling and snapping, the ruler of Hellgates fought passionately against the Lady’s restraint. The red fox and the white fox grappled with each other, the latter attempting to sink his teeth into his opponent’s neck. An extraneous arm sprung out from the Lady’s back, catching Vulpuz’s ravenous maw before he could bite her.

The Lady shouted breathless orders at her companions. “I will handle this! Nivedita, Willow, go! You must reach the gates of Dark Forest before Fleck passes too far beyond the threshold! Tuskan, brave heart, accompany them!”

Tuskan realized that his mouth had fallen open, and he closed it before looking over at Willow and Nivedita. The pair were clearly hesitant to obey. Both of them sensed that something was about to go unspeakably wrong.

“Go, now!” The Lady’s footpaws began to score rivets in the ground as Vulpuz strained to overpower her. Like a stinging whip, her voice roused them all to action.

“There is no time! Make haste!”

Willow squeezed Nivedita’s paw. Concern showed clear on the lady rat’s face, but she was obedient. Moaning, the Wearet helped Nivedita to climb atop his back while Tuskan scrambled up beside her, the grizzled rat visibly shaken by Vulpuz’s beastlike fury. Though she was unhappy with the situation, Willow offered her mistress a final note of advice as the group melded with the mists of Hellgates.

“Be careful, m’Lady!”

7 notes · View notes

theredwallrecorder · 7 years

Text

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) pt 4/1 - Steadfast

Haha, I just recently realized that when this post is viewed on the blog it makes the lenny face look like the eyebrows are stabbing the eyes. Accurate.

If anyone’s curious, this is part of an ongoing series of fics about Redwall Hell and its characters. Here is part one, part two, and part three. I really need to catalog these fics since there are so many now.

Somebody *cough cough @thegoldensoundtwice cough* really needed to know about Nivedita’s fighting style... and well how about this? She’s first up in our Redwall Hell unofficial tournament! @raphcrow I hope this pleases you, my queen~

We last left our intrepid babes facing off against the Great Vulpuz himself, but not one to be outdone, the ruler of Hellgates has sent Nivedita and Willow Slay off to fight his lackeys while he gets the Lady all to himself. Smooth move, Vulpuz. Don’t mess this one up.

Do enjoy Redwall Hell: The Anime pt 4.1 - Nivedita vs. the Mask of Malkariss. There is a reason nobeast in hell will cross the Lady’s esteemed right paw, as one unfortunate creature is about to find out.

Here is Nivedita’s theme. Feel free to peruse this translation of the lyrics, for they describe her well. Also, here is the theme for when her shadow rises. How deep the wellsprings of mercy that dwell within her, but if ownage is what you seek... through her, it will find you.

Man I love this AU.

Moments after she had stepped forth into the darkness, Nivedita found herself on the pebbled shores of the black sea of Hellgates. In front of her the dark, frothy waters churned ceaselessly, lapping against the smooth-worn bellies of the dozens upon dozens of gargantuan obsidian boulders scattered across the broad beach like a seer’s divining implements. The pale sun of Hellgates had nearly completed its laborious trek across the sky; it hung suspended just above the expanse of the sea, casting its sickly light over the water’s agitated surface and bathing the area in varying shades of crimson. The obnoxious, salty stench of the surf ruthlessly assaulted the female rat’s nostrils as she gazed at the creature she had chosen to confront.

Framed by the eerie, bulbous sphere of the weary sun sinking into the sea, a polecat stood silently before her, the blood-red waves swirling about his unshod footpaws. Upon his face he wore a half mask of honed white marble, the jagged edge of the mask rearing up above the crown of his head. Nivedita could make out a series of curious patterns carved into it. In one paw he held the thonged whip with which he had threatened the Lady, and in the other was a long prodding spear, of the kind typically used by slavers to keep their wretched charges in line. A soft tinkling sounded when the wind surreptitiously moved the fringe of his chain mail tunic. The strange polecat regarded Nivedita without speaking, his lip curled in a gesture of derision beneath the bottom edge of the mask.

“I am deeply disappointed,” he said finally, the deepness of his voice carrying over the alternating crash and hiss of the surf. “Do you not remember me, concubine?”

Nivedita stiffened. Something dark and heavy stirred deep within her soul and she frowned, staring quizzically at the masked polecat.

“Forgive me, but I’m afraid I’m not sure I know you.” Nivedita offered him a polite curtsy. “Have you come to the Lady’s nightclub before?” she inquired.

Chuckling, the polecat shook his head. “Silly girl, I have never been within a league of the usurper’s indulgent nest. I knew you before, when you were just a frightened slave rat eagerly willing to do all within your power to keep everybeast around you out from under the harsh stroke of the whip.” He paused to study her closely. “What has happened to you? How fierce and terrible you appeared that night, your tortured soul dripping with infinite will and purpose! Whence has the fire fled? Has that vixen truly succeeded in transforming you into a shadow of yourself?” Taking a step forward, the polecat gestured with the point of his spear, indicating her entire body. “Did you forfeit the power I saw once, so long ago? Did the vixen wrest it from you, to claim it as her own? Where is the black knife that struck down the one who paved the way for my kingdom, whose blade scintillated joyfully in the light of the torches of the horde?”

Nivedita’s eyes grew wide, the realization of the meaning of his words dawning upon her. She regarded him with thinly veiled agitation, an uncharacteristic sharpness in her tone when she spoke, “I do not know how you came by this knowledge of me, but I would ask that you stop speaking of that night at once. I no longer wish to remember it.”

The masked polecat seemed to consider her request. Without warning he hurled himself forward, jabbing with the prodding spear. Thinking quickly, Nivedita turned to one side, the spearpoint whooshing harmlessly past her shoulder. She narrowed her eyes and raised her right arm, just in time to receive a lashing from the polecat’s whip as he pivoted on his footpaws, striking at her with the cruel weapon. Nivedita gritted her teeth at the pain, forcing her left footpaw to receive the brunt of her body weight as she retreated out of the polecat’s reach. He began to circle her, his eyes glittering from within the confines of his mask.

“I was there, concubine,” he rasped, the mask failing to muffle the reluctant awe in his voice. “I was there when, in the same breath, you both hailed and cursed our master. I was there when he knelt to receive you, and when he reeled from the murderous blow you dealt him. I was there, rat, when you clothed yourself in his blood and committed his foul corpse to the depths of the earth! Not a soul in the entire horde dared to stand against him, and yet—! You! You, an insignificant trull, struck down his mightiness even as he lounged casually on the proverbial throne of the height of his reign!”

Whirling, the polecat dealt Nivedita a series of swift blows with his spear and whip. She did her best to dodge, ducking and weaving as fast as the mangled side of her body would allow. He watched her struggle to avoid his attacks, frustration and confusion evident in the sloppy nature of his movements. Panting with exertion, the polecat skipped backwards, surveying the new injuries he had inflicted upon her with obvious annoyance.

“Why?!” he snarled, jabbing in her direction with the spear. “Why do you not fight back? Return the pain and suffering to me, blow for blow, gash for gash! Where is your ferocity? Your hatred? Your bitterness and loathing? Where are the indelible emotions that gave you the strength to slay our master?”

Nivedita rubbed the sweat off her nosetip with the back of a paw, wincing as her whiskers brushed against the angry, glowing gashes on her arm. She stared levelly at the polecat, a faraway look in her glimmering eyes.

“You must understand, I let them go when I…” her thoughtful voice faltered. Nivedita’s gaze strayed out over the black sea, taking in the raw beauty of the hellish sunset. “You’re right,” she continued softly. “That anger and hatred once had power over me, but no more. I released them when I forgave him for what he did to the ones I loved… and for what he did to me.”

The polecat’s mouth was agape. “You… you foolish girl!” he snarled. “You willfully gave up the source of your power just to feel better about your miserable past? All that righteous fury you bore was for nothing? Nothing?!”

Furious, the polecat struck out at her with his whip, the stinging barbs catching and tearing off bits of her fur and flesh. Again and again he beat her, bringing the whip down upon her upraised arm with increasing ferocity. Nivedita bore the onslaught without moving, her eyes burning into his as he unleashed a rage born of incredulity.

“How?! How could you just throw away an awesome wellspring of power? Not even our master could stand in your way… and you gave it up! Fool! You could have found immense favor in the eyes of the Great Vulpuz, but instead you grovel at the footpaws of that ragged vixen, playing the games of babes with the rest of the rabble of Hellgates and that traitor mink! How can you stand to linger amongst such rubbish and filth? Don’t you understand you are only titivating their feckless souls, adorning worthless baubles with value they do not deserve? They are nothing to you, and yet you leave your strength in the dust to be with them! Rash! You have wasted your—”

Nivedita had heard enough. She had been monitoring the progress of his assault, biding her time as each wild blow brought him ever closer to her. Finally, the opportune moment arrived. She swung her arm in a wide circle as he brought the whip down for another stroke, and the thongs of the whip entangled themselves in her claws. She tugged fiercely on the weapon, causing him to lose his balance and stumble forwards. With their faces nearly touching, Nivedita smiled wistfully up into the polecat’s shocked eyes.

“I am sorry you think my greatest strength was born from my hatred and anger,” she murmured, odd hints of lingering gratitude in her voice. “You are wrong. I learned of my own strength through forgiveness. Everything I am I owe to those who helped re-shape my heart, bringing me to a place where I could forgive. It is because of love that I fight you now, and it is because of love that I am more powerful than you.”

The sound of a mighty exhale interrupted her. An enormous paw descended from the air above Nivedita, its gargantuan bulk momentarily hovering around the polecat’s head. A barely audible squeak escaped between his lips as the paw gripped his torso and squeezed none too gently. The whip and prodding spear fell forgotten upon the strand as the polecat was lifted bodily off the ground, forced to come face to face with a nightmarish beast. Its features wreathed in shadow, all he could see was a pair of fiery red eyes, twin pools of unquenchable flame. The shape of the monster seemed to pulse and fluctuate, the darkness beneath its eyes parting to reveal a gaping maw lined with saw-like fangs. A globule of foul-smelling phlegm dripped from between the beast’s teeth, splattering across the polecat’s mask. The unfortunate vermin’s nerve completely deserted him.

“N-no… how can… how can this be? I understand, I understand! You are still strong!” he cried, his voice hollow with desperation. “P-please! Don’t let the slavemaster devour me!”

The great beast bowed, bringing its forehead to rest against the polecat’s mask. For one breathless moment, only the sound of the wind and waves could be heard. A low rumbling noise heralded the slavemaster’s stirring, and a terrible roar ripped from its throat, splintering the marble mask into a thousand jagged shards. Drawing its arm back, the monster cloaked in darkness hefted the polecat as though he was naught but a stone unearthed by the tide. With a powerful heave, the slavemaster hurled the polecat far out into the sea, echoes of the vermin’s scream ricocheting off the boulders on the beach even after he had disappeared from sight. Nivedita sighed, turning to glance at her protector with brows upraised.

“You are getting very good at that, but I wish you wouldn’t throw them quite so far,” she admonished gently.

The beast moaned, a guttural cry that culminated in a gurgling trill of contentment somewhat akin to laughter. Gradually, he bent down to Nivedita’s level, nuzzling her with the rough affection of one who is unsure how to mindfully handle his own bulk. She embraced and rubbed his proffered head with infinite tenderness even as his body began to shrink, his immense form merging with the contours of her shadow.

“Thank you for protecting me,” she whispered. “I love you, my son.”

6 notes · View notes