Call this incentive. I haven't read the books in years, except for Martin the Warrior, (and Legend of Luke about two days ago)
Basically, three sentences for every Redwall book. Off the top of my headfrom what I remember of the books. So if I'm wrong about anything, then please correct me!
Long had the searats held a grudge against the fire mountain. Every raid was unsuccessful, every assault fell short. But Ripfang was nothing if not patient, and he could wait another generation to get his revenge.
After he defeated Tsarmina, the memories in his head grew hazy. Where the memories had once been painful, he could now only see faint outlines and muffled sound. Sometimes at night, he would wake to nothing but the dream of a memory and the echoes of a song that he could not name.
Bryony said he was good. The others acted like he was evil. Veil never understood how the Redwallers knew so surely what he was when he himself barely knew.
Mariel and Dandin were everything he wished he could be. Strong, brave, and tenacious. It didn't take Saxtus long to realize that he would never belong among them.
There was no question that Russano was wise and peaceable. However, like his ancestors, he was afflicted with the Bloodwrath. Unlike them, he learned how to shut it off when he felt his ire rise.
Her death should have made him feel something. Instead, the rage that fueled him drained away. Now he felt empty.
The more time passed, the more it became apparent that he didn't fit into Redwall. On the surface he was like the others, but inside he was not. But he never drummed up the courage to say so.
Black banners hung from every window. Wailing could be heard far out to sea. Sorrow hung heavily over Salamandastron as they mourned their lost young ones.
"Leatho, please- at least talk to-"
"There's nothing to talk about, Lorgo. If Kolun hadn't held me back, my family would still be alive."
Staying at Redwall was the best thing for all involved parties. His mere presence in the tribe set everybeast on edge. Folgrim didn't need both eyes to see that they did not trust him.
Although their love did not diminish, Iris could no longer understand Rab fully; not since the Bloodwrath had overwhelmed him. Frequently, Rab found solace in the company of the wise old Bellmaker. They were often seen together in the halls of Castle Floret, discussing defense plans or fallen friends.
Somewhere along the way, they threw aside their good memories. History lessons under the stars, dancing in the mess hall, conspiring to steal the fresh-baked honey cakes. Although the moments never left, her greatest regret was that she could never thank her father for his love.
Something changed in Mattimeo after his father was buried alive. Gone was his laughter, his optimism. If the chance had presented itself, he would have gladly thrown away his life to slay the fox.
They weren't sure what to think of her, and several questioned what Inbar saw in her; for she was abrasive, aggressive, and damaged in ways they could never understand. But then the corsairs came- the first attack in any living memory- and Holt Rudderwake was demoralized. Except for Grath and Inbar, who stood back to back and drove off the corsairs almost unaided.
His death was something they all secretly speculated on. Maybe he would go out surrounded by a thousand foebeasts, or killing some mighty warlord. But Gorath ended up dying of an enemy that no beast could fight off: a broken heart.
Rorgus kept his affection for Zaran a secret. It would be selfish to ask anything of her, especially while she was still grieving for her husband and daughter. Little did he realize that his feelings were no secret to her, or that his respect for her needs and feelings was one of the things she fell in love with.
Vermin loved many things. Treasure, meat, battle, life. But they also loved their families- as Zwilt found out the hard way.
It wasn't often that Methusaleh let anybeast into his gatehouse sanctuary. He took great pride in his vast collection of scrolls and books. When Matthias became Abbey Warrior, he ensured the books were sorted and organized in the attic.
The loss of Martin, so soon after Felldoh's death, devastated them. Keyla's laugh was dull and hollow, Tullgrew withdrew into herself more frequently. And Barkjon lay awake at night, staring at the stars, trying to ignore the emptiness he felt.
Unhappy chance. That was all it was, really. Had Kroova just picked any other straw, Shogg would still be alive.
Death was not the end. The legacy of Bragoon and Saro was passed on in songs and stories told to Dibbuns at night. They would have been proud to see the antics inspired by their adventures.