A/N: This is a segment of a roleplaying thread at Fort Ruddler's RPG boards. This one is a two-part thread beginning in the Rambling Tavern and ending at the Harbor. I edited spelling and grammar mistakes for the most part, but by and large I did not touch the dialogue. The only character I wrote the part of was Riala. The parts of Mackbry, Bailey, and Teltoli were written by their respective players.


Fort Ruddler - Rambling Tavern

In the shadows of the barroom, unnoticed by most of the customers, sits a reddish-brown warrior squirrel. As the fire flares, rising momentarily to almost twice its height with the addition of new fuel, its flickering light illuminates the squirrel briefly - wiry, fit, with the scars of many past battles marring her otherwise well-groomed fur. She is wearing a strangely mottled brown and forest-green tunic, and in the rope belt that secures the tunic about her waist is a curious hardwood stick with a cord attached to it. Next to the stick is a plain, well-used dagger. Yet what catches the eye is the squirrel's tail, colored a rust-gold from birth.

She sips her cider slowly, with long breaks in between each small sip, not wanting to impair her ability to function. She watches the other customers with narrowed gold-brown eyes that miss nothing. It was something she did wherever she went, no matter the place's reputation - find a well-frequented place and sit in the background, observing. It was no different in this fort. The squirrel continued to watch, forming her own opinions about Fort Ruddler and the warrior-beasts that inhabited it...

An older gray hare sits back in his chair, a few tables away. He wears a faded blue, almost gray, cloak under which is a dark green tunic. A sheathed dirk and dagger show every now and again under the cloak as it flaps about. He sets his blue beret on the table, adjusting the small crystal-like spectacles perched low on his nose and rubbing irritably at a very noticeable scar running from his left temple to his chin. He chuckles merrily with a female otter sitting across from him and seems not to notice the new-comer. More fuel in finally added to the dying fire, eliminating the squirrel for a few brief seconds. The hare watches her from the corner of his eye, convinced by the squirrel's actions that one would not want to be on her bad side. His eyes grow dark and curious as he nods in her direction, indicating his otter friend take a look as well.

The flicker of movement as Mackbry nods her way catches the squirrel's gaze, and she looks over at him sharply for a split second, almost unnoticeable unless he were watching her closely. Slowly she brings her cider up to her mouth and takes another sip of the golden drink, watching the hare from her peripheral vision, not seeming to have noticed that he was watching her watch him. Let him make the first move.

A slight, somewhat sad smile touches the squirrel's lips for a brief instant as she remembers other hares she'd known in her early wandering seasons. Amusing, friendly, hard to dislike; deadly warriors with an intense fighting spirit - that's how the squirrel remembers hares. Perhaps it would be good if one of the first creatures she talks to in Fort Ruddler is a hare.

The hare settles his beret firmly on his head, tipping it to the otter before standing up from his chair. Being a hare, his curiosity had naturally gotten the better of him as he slowly made his way over to the squirrel's table. Grinning sheepishly, he pulled out a chair but remained standing. "'Allo miss, can't say I seen y'round 'ere afore, g'day. Wish fer some company?"

The squirrel sets her cider down on the worn and water-stained tabletop, not a drop spilling from the still nearly-full mug. She takes in details missed from her earlier scrutiny now, and after a moment of silence nods very slightly. "I wouldn't object to some," she replies, and motions with one scarred paw for him to sit. There is the very slightest trace of a northern accent in her voice, almost unnoticeable, but it shows in the lilting cadence of her words and a vaguely different way of phrasing things. Her voice is low and a little rough, though not unpleasant. Tufted ears flick to the side as someone drops a plate in the kitchen, sending the sound of shattering glass throughout the room, and then return to their normal forward position. "What are you called?"

The hare takes a seat, winking and tossing his beret on the table. He takes off his spectacles, wiping the sweat from his eyes due to the hotness of the tavern. Replacing the spectacles, he launches into a short speech as hares have a tendency to do. "Name's Mackbry Taffellappen, call me Mack though, dreadfully long name doncha think! Le'tenant Major 'ere at the fort, right nice place it is. Been 'ere about three weeks now, made m'self jolly well comfortable wot! Not much o' a history by chance though, grew up in ould west Mossflower an' lost me Mum an' Pater te a winter storm quite some time back. Been travelin' ever since, course that is till I came 'ere doncha know! An' who be yer good self?" Mack sits back, crossed his legs as he was fully intent on making his old limbs as comfy as possible. Seeming not to skip a beat he quickly relieves a passing bartender of a beaker of ale, taking a long draught from it.

Knowing that the old hare wont even stop for names, his otter companion comes up behind him and clamps a paw over his mouth. "Now, now, Mack, le' the poor miss getah word 'n edge wise, eh?" She nods to the squirrel. "Bailey Warcraft at yer service, marm."

Mack's rush of words and Bailey's introduction startles a laugh out of the seemingly impassive squirrel. It's a somewhat dry laugh, to be sure, but it's a laugh nonetheless. "I'm no 'marm,'" she says to Bailey with a wry twist to her mouth that might be called a grin. "An' I'm assuming you've been here longer than I, so you'd outrank me, wouldn't you?" Her silent assessment of the otter before she continues takes a bit more time than that of Mackbry, simply because she'd already been watching the hare before he'd come to the shadowed corner table. At last she smiles a bit crookedly, as if she were out of practice. "I'm Riala Goldentail," the squirrel introduces herself simply. "Glad to meet th' both of you."

Mack struggles from Bai's grip indignantly. "I woulda stopped talkin'...eventually." The hare shakes his finger at Riala in a comically stern way, adopting a deep voice like that of a grandhare chastising a leveret. "Come now missie, let 'ave a rel smile out o' ye." His face turns somewhat serious. "Y'may be one o' those 'ardened type, eh wot? But the fact is, whilst ye be at ould Fort Ruddler, ye can safetly walk 'round wit' a smile on yer face an' not be glared at wot wot!"

Riala shrugs wiry shoulders at Mack's words. "You can't force a smile, hare," she says quietly, taking another small sip of her cider. Gold-brown eyes flick upward to Mackbry's face, then to Bailey's. "So what's this place like?" the squirrel asks, changing the subject. "I've heard a lot about it, but nothing from someone who's lived here..."

"Ah well, s'pose tis good logic," the hare amends. "Now, Fort Ruddler, eh wot? Lets see, twas built te be the bally 'ome o' the Northland warriors by a grand ould otter named Thrugg, I do believe. This Thrugg fellow an' the orginal cap'ns, Ariel obviously, Sunswirl, Sandfur I think, well, a right good ould bunch any'ow, orginally came from Camp Willow. I certainly ain't the type te spend me time wit' me bally nose buried in books wot! Many a Northland warriors live 'ere, an' many a Northland travelers pass by quite often. Five platoons, Moonsword, Lighthunter, Giftblade, Jadewarrior, an' Bravepaw. I be in Bravepaw. Then there be the bally fleet, five ships, the Wildshadow, the Darkwind, the Northern Flyer, the Wavearrow, an' the Starchaser. At the bally momento though, the 'Shadow, Darkwind, an' Wavearrow be leavin', trouble at ould Redwall abbey I 'ear. Ever been te Redwall?" He sips from his beaker of ale, savoring the warm taste and warm atmosphere of the tavern. With a sigh, he empties the beaker, setting it, empty, onto the table.

Bailey glares at the hare. "Mack, the poor miss cn't un'astand a wor' ye be sayin'! So shush up!" The otter turns to the squirrel and looks her up and down. "Aye, he's right... mostly. These doawn be the 'rist ships, though they be soon from it. Win'Shadown, No'hernFlyer an' th' Sta'chaser be thee first uns, thin a fe' more. Me mum was a captain, sometime back..." She looks down, for a moment. "Aye, twas beast fro' Camp Willo' who buil' this 'ere place. Tis a g'and one, 't that." She smiles, remembering the tales her mother told, the stories of task forces, songs, feasts, and seasons gone bye. Of the beasts of here, and the beasts of Camp Willow. Her inky eyes trail to the wall, at the bottom and she stares, her eyes glazed with the far away gaze that only beasts thinking of those gone bye can have.

The squirrel listens intently to both Bailey and Mack's explanations. After the hare's somewhat long-winded version, the sudden switch from narrative to question startles her, and it takes a moment to collect her thoughts. "Aye, I've visited Redwall many a time," she says quietly, a fleeting smile touching her face for a brief instant at the fond memories. "I was a part of a band of warriors down Mossflower way - disbanded now, unfortunately - and I stayed at the abbey on several occasions... Never stayed for long, though." Riala shrugs as if the physical movement would clear her head of long-ago memories. "What about you, Mackbry? Bailey? Ever been to Redwall?"

Mack's face was suddenly wreathed in smiles of long ago memories. He took another sip of ale to wet his lips before begining yet another speech, as hares often do. "Ahh yes, ould Redwall, eh wot? Well, like I said, didna travel much when I was young, only 'eard of the place. After about two months after I 'ad left me burrow I stumbled up to their front doors. Poored me 'eart out te the Abbott there, said 'e understood, 'ad many a creatures weepin' on 'is shoulder fer the same reason. Any'ow, lived there fer about a season afore continuin' onward. What wit' the kind 'elp of the Abbott, I soon felt better. I stopped by every now an' again, never stayin' any longer than a few days, but tis quite nice. I'd live there solely fer the bally tucker if me spirit would allow. Alas though, warrior I was an' warrior I stayed, right nice place, but a bit too bally peaceful fer me likin'."

He sighed, actually seeming rather winded for once as he waved his paw at Bai. "Well, what about yerself Bai, ever been te ould Redwall Abbey?"

"Naw, h'I've neva been ta th' h'Abbey o' Redwall... Bin ta Camp Willo', and Sal'mand'tron 'n' a few nother places, bu' Sal'mand'tron be as far 'outh as I bin." She looks down, remembering the beasts of place past. She remembers her aunts, uncle, mother, her father whom she hadn't seen in seasons, her sisters and brother, her mothers band of warriors, the beasts of the long gone holt she still lived in... She sighs and looks up. "Nay, h'I've neva bin thir."

Riala's tufted ears prick as Bailey mentions the fire mountain. "Salamandastron?" the squirrel echoes, gold-brown eyes alight with interest. "I've been there before... Who was the Badger Lord while you were there?" Her gaze unfocuses a little as memories flash across her mind's eye of her short time in the mountain of the fire lizards.

Bailey shakes her head. "H'I..." she stops, not knowing if she should continue, but she does. "I don't remember. I haven't been there since I was a babe... The... the one that I remember was a badger maid named Myra... but she... she was killed in an attack by the beasts that killed my mum's first love... Seasons later, of course..." She looks down. "I don't remember much but that."

The squirrel listens in silence to Bailey's story, taking another slow sip of her cider. "You were there before I came, then," she says quietly. "I visited during the reign of a Badger Lord named Firesight... He died in battle the day after I entered Salamandastron." A shadow falls across Riala's face, and her gold-brown eyes hold an unreadable darkness in their depths.

"Aye, well, never been there m'self," Mackbry interjects. Bit of a bally shame doncha think? What with me bein' a hare an' all, an' that 'tis th' strong'old o' hares is it not? Ach, oh well, s'pose t'will 'ave te live with it. Besides, love it 'ere any'ow." He winks at Riala, wiping foam from his upper lip. "I'm sure ye'll love it too!"

Riala shakes her head, sloughing off the dark mood sparked by old memories, and turns to Mackbry. "Perhaps you're right," the golden-tailed squirrel agrees, setting down her cider. "It seems to be a nice place..." Silence falls over the shadowed corner table as there's a lull in the conversation, and Riala's mind grasps ahold of what Mack had said earlier. "What was that you were saying about trouble in Redwall?" she asks, curious.

Once asked of the situation at Redwall, the normally jovial old hare stays silent for a few seconds, the twinkle disappearing from his eyes. Finally he sits forward, placing his elbows on the table and speaking in a low voice as his face took on a troubled look. "Well, far as I can tell, some fox be attackin' ould Redwall wit' 'is 'orde. I'm sure we all know the stories o' Redwall's past days when they been attacked, tis impossible te scale their walls. But now Fort Ruddler tis goin' te 'elp the abbey, only problem is, our beasts won't 'ave a wall te protect 'em until they're in Redwall. An' te top it off..." Mack's voice drops to a saddened whisper. "Tis been bad feelin' about the whole trip. Ariel an' Sandfur...well...I 'ear they been real quiet. Talkin' about 'opefully comin' back the spring, as if they might not." The older hare let out a distressed sigh and sat back, setting his beret on the table and wiping sweat from his forehead. "But tis jest me own speculations, not rumors."

"Ye doan' know th'm. They'll figh' ta death fer Re'wall... An' the' woan' care a bit 'bout th'm selves..." Bailey looked down, her eyes saddened beyond belief. Her mother was would go off, as soon as Andy and Ann were older, and hunt down Darkhart, the killer of her holt, one she had been hunting for years. Her Da had already avenged his family and childhood, but it had nearly killed him. And they both fought numerous times for others, because of what they believed. "Ye doan' know these beasts... They'll figh' fer eva... fer th'goo' o' som'one else..." Her voice was quiet, and saddened.

The squirrel's eyes turn flat and dark with the mention of war and of beasts not returning. She stares down into the golden depths of her cider, face expressionless. When she speaks, her voice is flat and absent of emotion. "There'll be some that won't return, t'be sure," Riala says quietly. "And some that won't be the same... Nobeast's ever unchanged by war. An' no army ever goes through it without losing somebeasts." Her gold-brown gaze rises from the cider to Bailey, something akin to sympathy flickering for a brief moment over her face, almost unnoticeable. "Nay, I don't know these beasts," she agrees, "but I've met so many warriorbeasts of their ilk that I understand what you're saying, Bailey..." Her voice softens just a bit. "D'you know anyone going to help the Abbey?"

"Aye..." She nods slowly. "I do." She doesn't speak for a moment, then looks up at the squirrel. "Aria... er, Ariel, she... She be me Aunt... sorta... And Sunny.. er.. Summer Snow..." She sighed. "An' Sandfur... He be 'friend from when h'I was yet a babe..." She shook her head, as if clearing her thoughts. "h'I'm sure me brother be thir.. we're eva he m' be afore. He'll a'go to 'he def'nce o' good beasts." The young otter looked sad. She was inexperienced in the arts of war, having only been around beasts who had fought in them, though even that was limited. She had seen what war had done to her mother, her sister, her aunts and uncle... She'd seen what it could do to families and friend... and she hated it.

Mack looks up at Bailey, a startled look dominating his sharp features. "Well 'ave ye not 'eard Bai m'gel? Ariel an' Sunswirl be stayin' behind. Sandfur be leadin' the three ships, wit' 'Nara an' some temperamental wolverine they calls Rysma Wildshadow. Apparently Ariel knows 'er from a ways back."

Riala glances sharply at Mack, eyes narrowing dangerously. "There's a wolverine here?" she asks in a low voice tight with anger. "This place actually accepted a wolverine into its ranks??" Almost of itself, her paw had gone to the throwing club tucked into her belt and was gripping it tightly in scarcely repressed hatred.

Mack stares at Riala, surprise and shock written clearly on his face. "Aye, a large female. Not really part of the Fort, not on the roster. She's Captainin' the 'Shadow on the trip te ould Redwall. Some odd relation wit' Ariel from far back a'ways. Rysma Wildshadow they calls 'er, like I said, wasn't named after the Wildshadow though. What's the matter Riala m'gel, some bad run-in wit' a wolverine of sorts sometime?"

"Doan' know 'er me self... Bu' ai't wol'erines supoabl' unloy'l?" Bailey looks back at Riala, her head cocked. Something has happened to her in the past, with wolverines...

She laughs harshly at Mack's question, her eyes shadowed and holding a smoldering fury within their gold-brown depths. "Aye," the squirrel rasps, her voice tight with remembered anger, "a bad run-in. Ye could call it that, I ken." Her northern brogue, normally too faint to detect, becomes somewhat more strong with the rise of her emotions. "T'was a wolverine what kilt most of m'tribe an' took th' rest as slaves, afore I was born. Mae father, Rilar Battlecry by name, escaped. He was th'only one tae do so. Then when I was still a dibbun, th' hells-curs'd wolv'rine named Nightdeath Longclaws murdered m'father. Challenged 'im tae a duel, an' had 'is yewbeasts shoot mae father when he was winnin'. T'was then that I became a fighter."

She stares into her cider, caught by the sorrow-wrought web of terrible memories. After a short silence, she continued. "That band o' bonny warriors I tol' ye aboot? T'was a wolverine that kilt one o' m'good friends, though 'e got 'erself kill'd too, in th' slayin'. An' that's why I agin took up my chase o' th' wolverine what kill'd m'father." Riala's intense gold-brown gaze rose from her mug to Mack, and her accent vanishes as her voice becomes chillingly emotionless and cold. "I killed Nightdeath Longclaws a season later. These scars are what I have to show for it." She doesn't move, but attention is automatically drawn to the many fearsome old scars webbing her entire body, marring otherwise well-kempt fur.

The squirrel's eyes shift to Bailey. "I don't know about wolverine disloyalty," she says flatly, voice harsh. "But I do know of wolverine treachery. There isn't a wolverine alive that could ever be trusted, and anyone who would trust a wolverine enough to put one in charge of a ship is a fool."

"Now now Riala m'gel, Ariel ain't no fool. Quite smart she is, been 'ere ever since Fort Ruddler was first built. She may know this Rysma better then yerself does." Mack's brow furrowed in concern, his old age suddenly seeming quite evident. He wrapped his paws around Riala's, looking the full part of a wise old Grandfather. "Riala m'gel, no beast, leastwise one of yer age, should 'ave te experience that. But from the moment ye decided te make yer life a livin' 'ell of misery over yer father's death, yew let that wolverine win. Tis vermin like 'im who are in this world only te make the lives of goodbeasts like ourselves miserable. The Longclaws may be dead, but his cursed spirit will forever triumpth over ye an' yer misery. No beast should live in the past, as many decide t'do. Wit' yer father's death avenged, there's no reason ye couldn't live the rest of yer life happy. Why weep over the death of your father, when he would want yew t'be comforted by 'is memories?"

He sits back, feeling seasons older. His paw strays deep into his cloak, feeling about for a few seconds before finally pulling forth a tiny charm. A loop, of which could be easily attacked to one's belt, led down a short length of miniature chain to the charm itself. It was small, designed to be carried without much notice. It portrayed four paws, that of a hare, frozen in the position of a full out gallop, tiny curves and intrictly carved lines showing the dust being kicked up. "When I found me Mum an' pater frozen quite awhile back, I took this from me pater's belt. Afore 'e met me Mum, 'e ran wit' a small group of various creatures that were from a small fort. Me Grandsire an' 'is Grandsires all came from the same fort. Whenever I look at this charm, I do not grow sad, but instead happy as I remember the memories I did 'ave wit' 'im an' me Mum. That's what yew need t'do. For as a great badger o' Redwall once said, 'Though our loved ones have departed, their memories will remain ferever te comfort us.'"

Riala leans back in her chair and closes her eyes, smiling thinly, bitterly. When she finally speaks, it's in a soft, almost sing-song tone that's chilling to the soul, and more disturbing for the complete lack of expression on the squirrel's scarred features. "You make it sound so easy, hare. I don't know how strong your relationship was to your parents, but... I never knew a mother. She died when I was but a babe, and so my father was all the family I had. We lived in far northern Mossflower- there are few creatures there, and there were no goodbeasts even near my age in our area of the woods. The only creature I could grow close to was my father. He was my father, mother, teacher, and friend. I was still a child when the Longclaws killed him."

Her eyes remain closed and her face expressionless as she continues. "Have you ever felt grief so deep that you can't think, can't act, can't move? Ever been touched by fury so intense that it overrides all reason and all other emotions, leaving you dry of any tears? And then that fury settles to cold hatred, smoldering hatred, hatred so deep that nothing in the world can make it go away, and the only thing you can do is obey it because if you don't you'll go insane... So you spend seasons of your life trying to satisfy that hatred. It consumes you, becomes your entire purpose in life, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. Then you finally kill the creature you hate most, and then what do you do? What is there left to do? You've no purpose. Your life was only hatred and now there's nothing to hate... So what's life without a purpose?"

She laughs, a harsh sound that grates on the soul like rough sandpaper. "You want me smile, hare? You think it's so easy to stop hating? When all you've ever done is hate and kill, kill and hate, when it's all you are... Emotion's the first thing to die in a life like that. You forget how to laugh, you forget how to cry, you forget everything but anger and hatred." Gold-brown eyes open finally, and even more chilling than Riala's sing-song voice is the deadness of her eyes, the windows to the soul. "No reason I couldn't live the rest of my life happy, hare? That's what the mind says... The heart tells a different story."

With those final, quiet words, the squirrel stands and walks out of the bar room on silent, scarred paws.

Mack let a long sigh of weariness escape him as he picked his beret up from the table, settling it on his head. He closed his eyes, rubbing them under his spectacles. "Tis poor beasts like that 'un whose lives be ruined fer good." He suddenly opened his eyes, slamming his paw onto the table in frustration. "Tis the unrelentin' tyranny of vermin! I'm seen too many goodbeasts, young beasts, 'ave their lives ruined by the forces of evil residin' in this world!"

The old hare's eyes sparkled sadly as tears waited to be released. "I think I shall retire fer the night as well Bailey lass, that 'un 'as worn me out." With his shoulders slumped dejectedly forward and his head bowed, Mack exited the quietly tavern. Once outside he stopped though. He leaned against the weather-worn planking covering the tavern as a wave of emotions finally swept over him, bringing tears to his eyes.


Fort Ruddler - Harborside

From the direction of the tavern strides a wiry squirrel with red-brown fur and a rust-gold tail, both lacerated with old scars. She wears a forest-green tunic mottled with earth-brown, the waist secured by a rope belt. Tucked inside that belt is a plain-handled dagger, well-used and well-made, as well as a short, slightly curved, thick hardwood stick with a long cord attached to it and coiled in the squirrel's belt.

Her gold-brown eyes are shadowed with the darkness of old memories, and she pauses at the water's edge, facing an old, brittle, stunted tree near the beach. Silently, without warning, she whips out her dagger and throws it. Before it thunks into the center of the aged, wind-scarred trunk, her throwing club is out and thrown as well. It tumbles end over end, hitting the tree mere moments after the dagger, the staccato thunks sounding close together. A tug of the long cord sends the stick flying back the squirrel's direction, and she catches it with the practice of long ease.

Those shadows still in her eyes, she moves in a blur of motion, the stick acting as an extension of her own arms. Whirling and twisting with blinding speed, she battles with her shadow, sometimes letting some cord out to lengthen her reach, sometimes whirling in a tight spin that sends the weapon flying from centrifugal force in a deadly circle around her. With a final flip, she reaches the tree and catches her whirling stick at the same time she wrenches her dagger loose from the trunk.

The squirrel replaces both weapons in her belt, breathing hard from her long, energetic practice, the shadows finally fleeing from the catharsis of physical activity - for a time...

A hare watches the squirrel practice from a distance. He is an old campaigner and can tell right away that the squirrel is a seasoned fighter by the way she handles her weapons. He sighs quietly to himself thinking about the days when he was in hard training. Though still skilled in the use of his dirk and a curious double bladed staff, it has been too long for his liking since Tel has seen action on the battle front. He strides up to the squirrel as she finishes her practice, the deep sand coming above his ankles.

"I say, jolly interesting weapon yew flourish there marm." He glances at the newly carved knocks in the tree trunk. "Mighty effective eh wot?" He grins meekly, seeing the shadowy appearance of her eyes. Having worked with many seasoned fighters in the past Tel knows the look well. "The name's Teltoli Rifflapin Riverbuck, but that's a bally mouthful so most call me Tel." He holds out a paw for shaking

The squirrel turns in mild surprise as she hears the unmistakable sound of paws treading beach sand. Her mouth twists into a wry grin as she notes Teltoli's species. "I seem to be plagued by hares today," she says, taking the hare's proffered paw with her own scarred, calloused one in a firm grip and shaking it once, then releasing it. "I'm Riala Goldentail," she introduced herself. Remembering his comment on her throwing club, she smiles thinly, touching one paw to the stick. "I call it a roce," Riala explains. "It works well enough for my needs, at any rate..."

Tel grins at the squirrel as she shakes his paw, listening to her hare plight. "Ah, I know wot yah mean, been a bit plagued by the bally rotters meself!" He chuckles dryly and pulls a canteen from his hip pouch. Taking a swig he offers it to her. "Yah look like you've been working hard marm, would yah care fer a drip o me special apple flower and barley water? Most refreshin' if I do say so meself, wot wot!"

The squirrel studies the hare with gold-brown eyes, then shrugs and accepts the canteen. In the mood she's in, she doesn't really care if he's trustworthy or not... but she's never met a hare who wasn't. After a quick drink from the flavored water, she hands it back with a grateful nod. "Thanks," she says, "and I think I'll have to agree - that is fairly refreshing." Riala starts off down the beach at a walk to cool herself down and keep her muscles from cramping, letting Teltoli decide if he wants to come along or not. "Been at this place long?" she asks the hare over her shoulder as she strides easily across the shifting sands.

Tel takes back the canteen once Riala has had a drink. He notices the squirrel take off at a walk and bounds up beside her. "I say, jolly good idea wot! nothing like a stroll on the bally ol' sand t'stretch the ol' legs wot wot!" Tel takes in a deep noisy breath of salt sea air, tilting his nose skyward. A soft cool wind blowing in off the ocean playing about his ears. He smiles as Riala asks about his stay at Fort Ruddler. "Nah, been a jolly ol' campaigner all me life but m'stay 'ere at Ruddler's jest begun. I came in off the trails only a couple weeks ago eh wot! Saw the bally place and knew it was me new home jest like that!" He snaps his fingers while twiddling his ears. "Kin yah believe they call an old blighter like me a new recruit, phaw!"

He turns to look at Riala, noticing that something seems to be troubling her. Although he does not know her Tel feels a bit of concern for the squirrel. "An' how bout yah Riala? How did yer travels land yah here at Ruddler?" He picks up a bit of driftwood from the sands while talking, running it through his paws absentmindedly.

Riala shrugs slightly. "I've always been a wanderer," she says enigmatically. "The longest I ever stayed in one place was two seasons, with a band of warriors in Mossflower, and even then I wandered some within the area. I've no idea how long I'll stay here - I joined the fort less week ago..." She smiles thinly, gold-brown eyes holding a sort of wry amusement in their shadowed depths. "You're the third beast I've actually talked to so far - th'others were Mackbry Taffellappen and Bailey Warcraft. Do you know them?"

Tel continues to fiddle with the piece of driftwood while talking. "I should say I know Mackbry wot. First bally beast I met 'pon my arrival here eh wot! Spiffen hare he is, been sparring with his as of late. Bailey I've heard of but nevah talked tah as of yet."

The hare looks over at the squirrel as he pulls he dirk from his belt and begins to whittle at the piece of wood. "A wanderer eh? Known a few like yah in me days, but nevah really understood you lot. I used tah wanderer a fair amount, found it lonely though. Decided I did better settled in one spot. Where did yah come form afore yah came teh Ruddler?"

The squirrel decides she's cooled down well enough and halts near the docks, sitting down on a weather-worn plank. "I wandered because there was never really a place I was interested in staying in. And there were also ... other reasons." That shadow of old memories flickers in the depths of her golden-brown eyes again, but she forces it away. Telling the whole of her story once in a night is enough.

Riala's gaze flicks over to Teltoli as he asks where she was from, and as she speaks, her attention wanders out to sea. "I'm from north of here, near the northern mountains... Fort Ruddler isn't far south of where I was born, actually." Now that her origins are known, it's possible to detect a very slight, almost imperceptible lilting northern accent hidden in the squirrel's quiet voice. "I wandered down to Mossflower, near Redwall area. Stayed there for a while, made my way to Southsward region, returned north, and eventually found my way here."

She shrugs, dismissing her past and the vague summary she'd given of it. "You in the Infantry or the Fleet?" she asks, switching the conversation over to a new topic.

Tel can tell that Riala does not like talking about her past and helps change the topic quickly. "I'm in tha jolly ol' infantry! Jadewarrior division teh be exact wot. Which are yah in Riala?" The hare continues to whittle at the driftwood, waiting for a response.

Riala blinks in surprise at Teltoli's answer. "I'm in the same division, actually," she says with some amusement coloring her tone. "Though I haven't been to any gathering of the platoon yet, which is probably why I don't recognize you from the division."

She glances to the horizon, at the sinking sun whose rays are tingeing the clouded sky a brilliant gold. "Ah, well, I think it's time I go to bed. Early to bed, early to rise, and all that..." The squirrel's been picking up on Tel's offhand-ish manner of speech from talking to him- it's sometimes hard, when talking to someone with a strong accent, not to pick up on their way of talking. "I'll see you sometime soon, I've no doubt, as we're in the same division. Good to meet you before, though. Later, then..." With a nod of farewell, Riala Goldentail heads towards the barracks, scarred footpaws crunching across the shifting sand.

Tel grins as he finds out Riala is in his division. "Well that's jolly well top hole news wot wot! We'll be seein' more o each other enough I guess."

He nods to Riala as she rises. "Tis be a pleasure chattin with yah Riala. Have a pleasant evetide marm." Tel sits, watching the sun set. He looks down as he finishes whittling the drift wood. In is paws rests a small bird. Tel sighs deeply, enjoying the cooling breeze.