(By "I like da sound of that, it's all shadowy and shivery and stuff" Zarla)
The world is filled with interesting parallels and coincidences...
Most of them cannot be explained in any rational way or form.
Along those same lines, there are some things in the world that remain hidden to outside eyes...
Never to be exposed to the outer world and its cruelty.
There are things that beasts refuse to believe in, as it would go against everything they know...
There are things that HAVE to be true, in order for the world to be right. There are things that must be believed, or there is nothing that can be believed.
There are rules one must follow.
Rules of conduct, rules of living.
Rules of life and how you live it.
Rules of beliefs and which you should believe.
Rules of battle and how you die.
There are many rules.
Is ignorance of them excusable?
It's debatable.
Those who wander without homes, those who have never known companionship, will instinctually seek others.
Gradually they will come together, as almost anything that has been separated will at some point.
Perhaps they will begin to join, to form a force, in order to defend themselves against those who had acted against them so many times before.
Perhaps they would choose to isolate themselves from a world that seemed so intent on isolating them.
Perhaps they would build...
Perhaps they would live...
And perhaps, they would forget...and continue to live in safety, unaware that there are things out there that would not approve..
There are those out there that do not approve and cannot believe. There are those who have to have certain things be true, or everything they've done becomes meaningless. The way of the warrior is to always have an enemy...
And an enemy is very different from just another beast...
Perhaps that is where the problem lies. It is up for debate.
But meanwhile, things continue onwards. Creatures continue with their lives, continue to believe things they've been raised to believe, in both places.
Above the ground, and under the ground...
Across the river and beside the river...
On the plains and off the plains...
Life continues onward until it finds a fork, a divergence, and that is when the decision has to be made.
It also continues onward until death inevitably comes.
But that is the nature of life. To live, to adapt. To make the best of what situation would come. And that is what they did.
That is how they survived.
And that is where they came from. The inherent need for survival. For companionship.
It was foolish of them to forget their past. Foolish of them to forget the outside existence of others, to forget what had caused them to build their home in the first place. Foolish, yes.
And the world has little patience for ignorance.
She and her friends had found the area first. They had been wandering, looking for someplace to call their own, when they had stumbled upon the area. It was a large stone cavern, deep beneath the ground, the floor littered with limestone chips, and bottom layers catacombed with tunnels and passageways. It was deserted, nearly caved in, but they managed to clear everything away. They noted the smell of their species, of their family, of the ones they used to know, which gave them some comfort. They didn't know what this place had once been used for, or what had caused the place to nearly fall, and it didn't matter much to them.
It was theirs now. That was what mattered.
Derigal and her friends cleared the place away, setting up some rudimentary shelters, scavenging about the local area for food. She had been appointed their unofficial leader, although she did not understand why. She had no leadership skills to speak of, only acting on what she felt was right, but apparently that was enough for them. Her friends.
All in all, there were five of them originally.
There was Derigal, the weasel. She was scarred and vicious-looking, ears pierced several times and a few tattoos marking her biceps, but had long ago lost her taste for blood. She had been a corsair once, living by exploiting and harming those that couldn't defend themselves, but she had tired of that life, tired of having to live on the scraps her captains would throw to her. Now she wanted someplace where she wouldn't have to depend on anyone, captain or otherwise, to support her or help her. She wanted independence, finding the idea of surviving off weaker beasts shameful and weak, and she was going to get it.
With her was one of her mates from the ship, a ferret who went by Lakesrath. He was a dreamer, something almost unheard of by corsairs, and often spoke of a great lake where he had lived once, or seen once, or had been born by. He could never quite remember, his early years lost quickly underneath the harsh teachings of corsairs, but large bodies of water still held a fascination for him. He hadn't wanted to leave with Derigal at first, but eventually he had given in and let her lead him somewhere where he could look for his lake, find what he had been searching for. The two of them both matched eachother in their fearsome appearance, although it was somewhat of a lie. It was true, they would indeed defend themselves or others viciously, and were good on the battlefield, but slaying and death had never held the appeal that it held to other vermin. They valued their lives and didn't want to throw them away needlessly.
Along the way they had run across another weasel, this one who went under the name of Kraskt, who sympathized with their desire to live by their own desires. She had been drafted into one of the many vermin groups that wandered the forest of Mossflower, but she had never approved or agreed with such a life. She also desired her own independence, much as Derigal did, and they both were kindred spirits, agreeing and feeling the same about several issues. Kraskt didn't look too villianous as vermin tended to go, but she did have a mark burned away on her cheekfur, a mark of the band she had been forced to run with. It resembled a crescent with a slash through it. She didn't like to talk about it or the group she had once belonged to, but all of the group that had come with Derigal knew that the practice of tattooing or burning wasn't uncommon among such groups to prove loyalty. If anything, Kraskt's presence proved there was a general feeling of dissatisfaction among vermin, and she willingly joined their party, searching for her own life.
A stoat and a rat completed their arsenal, and the two of them were perhaps the oddest of them all. They had given themselves matching names, Garrot and Torrag, and the two of them swore to be brothers, although it was obvious that they weren't. Not only was Torrag, the stoat, taller then Garrot, their fur colors and eye colors completely differed, as did their builds. Derigal and the others had accepted that, among other eccentricities of the pair, when they found that they too, also desired to find a better life, a life that they could control. From what they told, they had also run with a vermin band, although they had split off long before Derigal and her group had managed to find them. They often laughed off the experience as meaningless and silly, dismissing the idea, but they had scars that told more then they were willing to admit. Derigal and her friends never pryed or asked them awkward questions, knowing that the long lashmarks on both of their backs were signs of memories they obviously did not want to recall. The two of them of dressed in matching clothing and even had matching earrings and bracelets. Although Kraskt had suffered the scar on her face, the two of them had no markings on their fur. They had an easygoing air about them and rarely took things seriously. Whenever things got bad, or Derigal and her companions lost all hope of ever finding a place they could just live, Garrot and Torrag would cheer them up. They were masters of jokes and illusions, and could weave tales that were described so richly, and yet so amusingly, that they couldn't help but laugh. Although the two of them were strange, they did enjoy their presence in their party, and they could tell through the smiles and jokes that Garrot and Torrag were grateful for their acceptance.
These were the five that originally came across the cavern, unaware that once, long ago, it had held the cutl of Malkariss, and held slavery and other evils within its depths. Time had long passed over the ancient area, and the stain of evil was almost swept away. But Derigal and her friends found in the area a place that they could call home. It was isolated, far away, and was difficult to enter or intrude. They found nearby a stream, for water, and further down one of the tunnels an underground pool. The nearby foliage was able to provide them with food, and with that they settled into the cavern themselves, unaware of what they would begin.
They cleared away the rubbish, the broken spears, long fractured and covered with the dust of ages. They cleared away the bones they found hidden in the dirt, the ripped fabric, the broken chains, tossing them all into one of the deeper tunnels, wanting no reminders of the place's past, something they didn't want to know about. Carefully the began to take larger rocks and build a primitive shelter, where they would be protected against the stiff breezes that blowed through some of the tunnels deeper into the caverns.
They lived there for seasons before someone came to call. They had no expected that. Garrot and Torrag had been on watch, something that the group had not been so foolish as to forget, and holding their spears, tipped with the chips of limestone that was so plentiful on the floor of the cave, they blocked the passage of the creature in front of them.
"What brings ye here?"
The fox stammered, a young one that couldn't have been more then a few seasons old. Around his waist was a belt that held several pouches and bags, and his face was marked with dyes and burned patches, signs of a tribe that had been extremely possessive. His eyes were hesitant, and he layed his ears back, staring at the two with imploring eyes.
"I w-was wondering if'n I could stay 'ere the night...I-I don't have anywhere else t'go...I'll be on in the mornin'..."
Garrot and Torrag exchanged glances.
"Anybeast be followin' ye?"
The fox shook his head quickly, small beaded strands of headfur moving along with him. "Nay, I broke off from m'clan two moonpasses ago...they gave up on me, so I left 'em. They wouldn't bother t'follow me."
Again, the stoat and rat exchanged glances.
"Torrag, watch 'em. I'm goin' t'get Derigal." Garrot signaled to his stoat "brother", setting off into the darkness. Once he left, the stoat winked at the fox, who still looked frightened and nervous before sitting down, his spear still close to paw.
"Chased ye off, did they? Or did ye break off willingly?"
The fox looked down for a moment, still unsure of himself. "Both, kind've...they di'n't want me, and I di'n't want 'em, so I'm tryin' t'find someplace t'go..."
Torrag scratched his shoulder absently, staring at the fox. "Sound like ye'd fit right in, bucko. Why'd ye leave?"
The fox, apparently deciding that the stoat meant him no harm, sat down as well, still some distance away from him. Before he could speak, the stoat pointed to the belt at his waist.
"Foolish t'travel without a weapon. Jus' warnin' ye."
The fox nodded. "I know, but...we didn't use any...we were seein' foxes, y'know th' type..."
The stoat nodded solemnly. "Aye, I know 'em well. Seein' vixens an' the like, able t'predict th' future and all that rubbish."
The fox interrupted him, but Torrag did not protest. "Aye, seein' foxes indeed...'cept I can't see." The fox paused for a moment before gesturing to his face. "'Cept with m'own eyes. Can't predict or anythin', or even pretend. So's I left, ain't looked back since."
Torrag could tell that was a lie, but decided not to mention it. At this point Garrot came back, and Torrag pushed himself up with his spear.
"She says t'bring 'em t'her."
Torrag nodded, gesturing with his spear. "Well then, c'mon young 'un. We'll see what we can do fer ye."
Derigal was resting on one of the improvised beds they had managed to scrape together in the large stone construct, worried and nervous. She had finally begun to think that this could be her home, her haven, but the arrival of the fox reminded her that she wasn't completely safe. She didn't want to lose this, not now, not since things had been going so well.
Kraskt was with her, and the two had spoke for some time concerning the fox, Kraskt convincing the other weasel that the fox could prove invaluable to them someday. So Derigal was willing to take the chance. After all, he had claimed to be traveling alone.
Garrot and Tarrog brought the fox into the stone hut. Following behind them was Lakesrath, who apparently was interested in this latest development.
"Who're you?" Derigal asked directly, keeping her paws on the sword she had managed to take with her when she had left her ship. "An' why'd y'come 'ere?"
"My name is Burgham, and I don't want anythin'." The fox tried to keep himself passive. Derigal could see from the bags at his waist that he must have been one of the seer foxes, the ones who supposedly could tell the future. "Jus' a place t'stay."
Kraskt crossed her arms, staring levelly at the fox who looked somewhat intimidated, surrounded by five much older vermin. "Did anyone see you come in?"
The fox shook his head slowly, and Derigal sighed before speaking, not sure of what she should be saying. "Jus' t'let you know, we don't want anyone breakin' up our peace, y'hear? We don't want no trouble."
Burgham nodded again.
"Why don't we let 'im stay, then?" Lakesrath spoke, his voice surprisingly pleasant for a corsair. "Can't tell nobody 'bout us, an' he'd be a big help with vittles an' th' like."
The five considered this for a while, then Burgham surprised them all by speaking for himself.
"If'n ye wouldn't mind...seems like y'got quite a cozy place here...y'don't go slayin' or nothin', do ye?"
All five shook their heads in unison, Derigal speaking for them. "We live by ourselves. We don't need nobody else, right?"
The other four responded as one. "Right!"
Burgham again spoke, his voice slowly gaining confidence. "I'd like t'stay with you then, if that's alright. 'M tired of livin' a rovin' life, an' I jus' want t'settle down."
Garrot snickered to himself as he elbowed his larger brother roughly. "So tell us how many seasons ye be this year, granpappy!"
Tarrog put a paw to his forehead dramatically. "Alas, must be far more then me an' me not-so-fair brother have seen, aye!"
The two of them began to tease one another unmercifully while Derigal smiled at the fox, who looked confused.
"I guess y'can stay. But make yerself useful, we don't want no dead weight, gottit?"
Burgham nodded, and for once he actually looked happy. "Don' worry, I won't 'cause ye any problems at all."
Burgham was the first, but he was not the last. Slowly, other vermin began to trickle into their hideaway, vermin who had lost their way and were searching for someplace to live quietly by themselves. Once they found themselves among Derigal and her rapidly growing band, they felt at home, and they stopped roving. When large vermin groups came by, the entire band would work at sealing the entrances to their hideaway, not wanting a repeat of what had happened to so many of them.
Vermin of all species came to them, from all sorts of different circumstances. Foxes, ferrets, rats, stoats, weasels, and even a few rare pine martens. Sometimes they came in groups of two or three, or in some extreme cases four. They came from all walks of life, corsairs and shore-raiders, hordebeasts and dissatisfied leaders, seers and prophesiers, warriors and fighters, culturers and harvestors, and the few lonely vermin that lived by themselves, no longer wanting to bear the solitude.
Burgham suggested the idea of expanding their main building, proving to have a surpisingly apt mind for plans. Vermin who had worked at building things, from ships to houses, helped with the construction, and the plans were soon worked out. Underneath the ground, the buildings would be supported by the walls, surrounding the main building that would help house them. A storage facility for their food, and some enterprising water rats even presented the idea of irrigation, of moving the underground pool and channeling its water to a different location.
Derigal approved of it, everyone recognizing her as the leader for some reason she didn't understand, and they began to work, everyone contributing as best they could. Lakesrath and other ferrets, who he seemed to get along with quite well, set to work on moving the pool, while Garrot and Tarrog took care of the construction of the outer buildings. Kraskt and Derigal themselves worked on gathering the materials from deep within the mines, finding old passageways and the like which lead to plenty of raw materials.
It took many many seasons for their plans to come to fruition, but their continually increasing numbers helped them with this. It almost seemed as though lost and forgotten vermin, who had lost their purpose in the world, would gravitate towards them. Vermin from clashing clans worked side by side, having abandoned the world of rank and file. Vermin from contrasting species helped eachother build, abandoning the prejudices that had been present for so long. Solitarily, they each had their own belief, and because Derigal was not a commanding nor intimidating leader, they were allowed to think what they wanted to think.
There were problems, there always were. Occasionally vermin would enter who did not approve of their lifestyle or cause problems, and, unable to let them leave to inform others of their home, they were forced to slay them. They did this with mechanical precision and with the knowledge that it was either the offending vermin or their home, and thus it did not bother them unduly. They had gotten used to the meaningless slaughter that had been part of all their lives, and it did not shock or offend them. They knew the meaning of death and that it had no logic. There were no innocents, and there was no death that was unjustified. They had long ago accepted it just as part of their lives.
It was the rats that helped them in terms of food. A lot of the rats that came to join them turned out to previously be cooksrats on whatever ship they had been part of, and a lot of them knew what to eat and how to prepare it. They compared recipes and methods, and they became their foragers while the other species worked at their home, building and working.
They knew that just scavenging off the trees would not prove successful in the long run, but they also did not want their home to be discovered. The rats discovered the way around this. They went long and far to find seeds to various foods and grains, planting them around one of their more hidden entrances in unplanned rows in what seemed to be random patterns. They tried to choose the place where the least amount of creatures seemed to pass by, and they watered and took care of their plants at night, whilst no one was watching. To those passing by, the plants and stuff seemed to just be there naturally, and it didn't seem unusually peculiar. The rats hid the entrance to their home there well, not wanting it to be detected, and they harvested during the cover of night. This became their food source, and it proved to be reliable, even if some of their food was devoured by other creatures in the night. They expanded on this plan to several of the other entrances, following the same pattern.
There were conflicts, there always were, between vermin over what belonged to who, and what someone had done, and these were brought to Derigal to judge. She tried to be a fair decider, but sometimes the offended parties went away muttering. However, no one wanted to jeopardize their home at the moment, so they refused to leave. They stayed, harboring hurt feelings, but Derigal tried to keep conflicts at a minimum. If they wanted to live together, they'd have to suppress the almost all-encompassing instinct vermin had that presided over all others: every beast for himself.
The seasons that passed went quickly, and eventually the vermin began to overcome this rule, first with their friends, then with the rest of the group. They never became overly friendly or emotional, as it was against their nature, but they would grudgingly help others, and accept Derigal's decisions.
Finally, the buildings were completed when Derigal's fur was beginning to turn grey at the tips, and Burgham was a full-grown fox, out of his prime. Since the majority of the vermin that had found their way there were young ones, those who had been there first were regarded with the most respect. The original five who had started the place stood in front of the glimmering limestone building behind them, flecks of crystal amidst the roughly hewn blocks. Surrounding them were several buildings of various size and build, but the building that caught all their attention was the central one. To one side of it rested the pond they had managed to construct through the irrigation.
They stood and faced the vermin, who accepted them as their leaders without question.
"Me hearties, look what we've done!" Derigal held out her paws to the crowd, which cheered in response. "We did it! It's ours! An' no one'll ever take it away from us! We got us a home now, cullies, a great berth, and it'll be ours as long as we can keep it!"
"We worked for it and it's ours." Garrot called out. "Remember what we've said this time. Keep it safe and it'll never fail ye."
Tarrog responded, finishing the others thought. "Ye're home. Ye're all home!"
"We've decided on a name, a right good 'un for somethin' we worked so hard fer." Derigal gestured to the building, which had the rough letters carved into one of the blocks near the door by one of the few of them that knew how to right. "Shadivher!"
"Shadivher!" The crowd of vermin echoed out, cheering and hollering. Derigal smiled, again waving her paw at the crowd.
"Be proud of who y'are, mateys, yer Shadivherian now!"
Again the shouting increased, and with that Shadivher was born.
The underground city flourished, vermin making homes and living their lives as they saw fit, free of any dictator overlords or the like telling them what to do. Seasons passed happily for the creatures that inhabited the city, and Derigal eventually began to outline the laws that she wanted passed before she herself went to the Dark Forest. She and the others, who were revered as the founders of the lonely vermins dream, sat together for many nights, trying to decide on what the laws, when there came any, should be.
Finally it was decided thus.
No one was to be banished or leave Shadivher, for risk of revealing them.
No one was to hurt or harm another in Shadivher without due cause and without consulting a leader first.
There were to be five leaders who would converse and discuss on what needed to be done, and what decisions were to be made.
At all costs, Shadivher had to be protected, its existence kept secret to everyone.
Those were the important points that they thought of, and they decided that more could be decided when they were gone and when they were needed. Employing Burgham, who knew a few letters, the carved the points into the wall in front of Shadivher, underneath the citys name. The rules were agreed upon by the population as necessary and good, and the five leaders who originally planned the city eventually passed away, within days of eachother, almost as their deaths were connected to one another. As seasons went by, they became a legend, the grand five who had set up this vermin utopia, and their memory was not one to be defiled or mocked. Their names were carved into the front of the main building, designated as the Nest, underneath the original four points that defined the existence of Shadivher, and the actions of its citizens.
Burgham was one of the leaders that followed, and soon he passed away as well, other leaders taking his place. They all struggled to hold to the ideals that Derigal and her friends had laid out for them, and time passed comfortably and quietly.
They covered the entrance to Shadivher whenever a vermin horde passed by, or whenever a woodlander came near. They knew, as all vermin knew, that woodlanders detested vermin, and the feeling was mutual. They closed their doors to all woodlanders, never believing that one of them could possibly overcome their prejudice to live in peace with vermin.
They were unaware of the exact same prejudice that existed in their opposite, something that all the vermin were completely unaware of. The structure known as Redwall Abbey, which Shadivher had unknowingly mirrored in its ideals of peace and tranquility. The two of them followed much the same pattern, and the parallels between the two were eerie, but undeniable. And yet, the two remained completely ignorant of one another, thankfully.
That is, until the one mistake.
Seasons upon seasons had passed since Burgham was laid to rest, and the vermin were beginning to enjoy their trouble-free life, underneath the ground with the torchlight their constant companion. They were beginning to take on a distinctly white hue, although the rats, with their constant ventures outside, were taking it slower then others. Generations passed without warfare or violence, and they were beginning to lose the rough edge that had defined their ancestors. Their skill only increased as time passed, their cooking, building, gardening skills all strengthening with each generation, tradition from back in Derigal's time followed and honored at feasts and banquets they had.
They lived a secluded, sheltered life. They lost the knowledge of the outside world, and instead grew xenophobic of outsiders, simply shrugging off the outside world as something they did not want instead of something to be feared. They began to grow haughty and careless in their happiness, and this led to their downfall.
They began to forget why they were there in the first place, the trials and tribulations that their founders had to go through to create this place. They forgot, and they payed for it.
All because of one little mistake...
One sentry gone away for a moment, believing the day to be clear and safe...
One chance for a dissatisfied fox, with a bag of supplies on his back, to slide past the entryway, gesturing for his ferret companion to follow him, and they disappeared into the night.
By the time they realized what had happened, it was too late.
The first rule had been broken by their carelessness.
And now Rylak and his companion Tyrlaiv were roaming the countryside, with the knowledge of Shadivher, its inhabitants, its systems, its location, its secrets, held within them, foolish and untrained in the ways of surviving in the woods without food being provided for them, without any knowledge of how to take care of themselves. Without any weapons.
They were free, the cardinal rule was broken, and Shadivher was now in jeopardy. They did know one thing, however.
Rylak and Tyrlaiv had to be stopped, one way or another.
Two days after the fox and the ferret has escaped, a pair of weasels, Dirrim and Karna, set out after the two of them, set upon slaying or bringing back the errant wanderers. They were armed.
The entrances were closed after them, Dirrim and Karna knowing that they would probably never see their home again. They had resigned themselves to this fate when they decided to pursue the fox and ferret, and did not regret it.
The two female weasels, both with whitish-grey fur and light green eyes, set after the trail that their prey had clumsily left, the fate of Shadivher resting on their shoulders.
And this is where the story really begins.