A/N: These are actually two different roleplaying threads from Fort Ruddler's boards, although both took place at the Platoon 4 grounds. The first one, At the Flagpole, was unfinished. I included it here mainly to show that the platoons have gotten their own individual grounds, and that Riala has been made commander of Platoon 4 - even if she doesn't like it. The second thread, Near the Barracks, contains actual character development for Riala. In both of these threads, 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 part of Teltoli was written by his roleplayer.

Fort Ruddler - Platoon 4 Grounds - At the Flagpole

The hare walks into the soft dirt main grounds of the platoons. He looks about and spots a flag waving in the slight breeze. Walking nearer to it, he sees that there is a large "4" embroidered into the fabric. He lifts his beret and scratches his head fur with a pensive paw. "I say! Jolly well spiffen, we have our own platoon area now wot! Wonder if'n there's any othah platoon four members round er'?" The hare shades his eyes with a paw, scanning the area for others from his platoon*

A golden-tailed squirrel trudges in, a scowl on her scarred features, very obviously not wearing a uniform nor rank insignia of any sort. Rather, Riala is garbed in her usual mottled forest green-and-brown tunic, equipped with her roce and dagger, and looking very disgruntled. She glares up at the Platoon 4 flag resentfully, none too happy with how matters stand at the moment. One red-brown paw grips the pouch hanging from her belt with angry tenseness. However, her irritation is just that- annoyance, sullenness, grouchiness- not the deep fury that is so much a part of her.

The gate of the picket fence surrounding the barracks area creaks open, and Ariel glances around to see if Riala is in the area. At the sight of the squirrel, the fleet commander enters the grounds. Riala's expression is hardly one of joy, but no one can be happy all the time, least of all when things need to be done. She nods politely to both her and Teltoli before explaining what needs to be done. "Glad I found you here... I have something I need you t'do for me. Since you've recently been placed in charge of this Platoon, I'd like you t'come to a decision on a nickname for your group, with their input o'course. I'll give you a week to make your choice, and after that the name'll be permanent. This Platoon's previous nickname was Jadewarrior, I believe... if you needed an example. Does that sound like a reasonable request, Riala?"

The squirrel's visage darkens as Ariel mentions the fact that she's become the commander of the platoon, although she doesn't speak- not audibly, anyway. She mutters something about never having asked to be leader of anything, but she doesn't give her complaint voice, subvocalizing silently, too quiet for even an otter or hare's ears. Riala listens to the otter's request silently, finally nodding. "Reasonable enough," she says with a shrug. "Tel's the only platoonbeast here so far, though. It actually might take the full week." A wry grin, fleeting and humorless, passes over her scarred face.

She watches Riala's expression as it darkenes slightly. She has, perhaps, an idea of the source, but discussing it in this type of situation certainly wouldn't do any good. "Aye, perhaps it won't. Thank you anyway, though, and I'll check back with you in a week." She nods to both of them, and turned and left.

Riala watches Ariel go, gold-brown eyes half-lidded, and then she turns to Teltoli. "Well!" she said finally, glaring up once again at the platoon pennant. "What do we name this little group?"

The hare watches the fleet commander leave with his sparkling dark brown eyes. Turning to Riala he grins slightly and cocks his head to the side. "Think o a jolly ol names the ticket, eh wot! Well then, let's get cracking." Tel twiddles his ears for a few moments and begins to say the names that come to his mind. "Hmmmm...well how bout 'Highland Patrol'...or mayhap 'Shadowblade Corp.' I like both o those...whot else... 'Hawkeye'... 'Dunehunter'..."

Riala nods at the suggestions, leaning back against a stone wall and tossing out ideas of her own. "Windrunner... Iceblade... Eh, I'm not very good at thinking these up. I think I like Highland Patrol though."

Teltoli grins as he leans back and continues to think. "I like Highland Patrol too... let's see... 'Windblade'..." He chuckles as he realizes he'd just used half of each of Riala's suggestions. "Um...let's see..."


Fort Ruddler - Platoon 4 Grounds - Near the Barracks

Tel walks slowly across the dusty grounds of Ruddler, making his way towards his favorite place to sit. The porch outside of his barracks always has the warmest sunlight for this time of day. Tel shields his eyes with his uninjured paw and looks towards his home at Ruddler. The deep brown wooden barracks look almost pinkish in the warm afternoon light. "Oh, I say, could use a little rest time eh wot..." he mumbles to himself and shifts the small sack on his shoulder slightly as he walks. Upon reaching the porch, the hare takes a seat on the steps, resting his back against one of the posts used to hold up the wide shingled awning in front of the barracks. Tel's bright eyes reflect tiny golden dust motes as he takes the sack off his shoulder. Removing his weapons from their places in his wide belt, he places his dirk and dagger to his right side, and begins to fish around in the sack. Coming up with a small vile, a thin roll of white material, and a small bag with leaves in it, he sets to work on his injuries.

"Bally ol Rook, cut me up n' no mistake. All right Riverbuck let's get this taken care of shall we..." He grimaces as he pours a small amount of disinfectant from the vile to his paw fingers. Earlier the wounds had been bleeding steadily, but after some pressure they bleed only slightly, from a deep gash by Rook's dagger, reaching the bone. After cleansing the wounds, he presses a dock leaf or two up against his paw and uses his other paw and teeth to wrap the material tightly around the injured area. Tying the bandage off he closes his eyes as the pain subsides. "Ah, that's bettah wot!" Eventually he takes care of the more minor wounds, cleans his weapons to a shine, and leans back on the post, letting the warm sunlight relax his tired body.

Riala had been working in a new cord for her roce when Teltoli came in. She'd always preferred to make her own cord, as that's whad she'd had to do when on her own, and she saw no reason to change her habits merely for convenience. It had been somewhat difficult to find nettles this far north, but they were available, and the squirrel had gathered up several of them. She'd soaked them in water to soften the sharp, mildly toxic nettles, then crushed them with rocks until the inner flesh had been forced out. Now she was working on the final stage, braiding the nettles together in a tight, continuous cord. Her gold-brown gaze flicks upwards briefly from her task when the hare walks in, then returned to the growing cord. "Who won?" she asks offhand, the attempt to begin a conversation rare coming from the mostly withdrawn squirrel.

The hare took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he drifted off towards slumber. Being unaware of the fact that other beasts were around he mumbles to himself, in a voice laden with fatigue:

"Far 'cross the Eastern plains
Where the purple heathers grow
Down by the sunlite banks
Is a place I love to know

The Riverbuck camp, a happy place
Where hares afar call home
Sometime me footpaws twill take me there
No longer will the warrior roam..."


Tel had been unaware that Riala was in the barracks. Most beasts were elsewhere in the fort this time of day, part of the reason Tel enjoyed retreating to this spot. Still he smiled slightly as he heard his friend's voice, he liked talking with the usually withdraw squirrel. He spoke in a far away voice, not turning his head to face Riala, "Well, tis hard teh say really...don't spar tah win yah know wot...I'd say twas pretty much a bally ol stalemate. Rook's a top hole dagger beast really, think we both gave each otha a run fer our acorns wot!"

After speaking Tel chastises himself inwardly. He hoped the thing he said about "not sparring to win" did not offend his friend. He had not meant anything by it of course. Now that he was no longer in such a drowsy state the hare decided to change the subject quickly. "So me gel, whot have you been up to this fine day wot?'

The squirrel continues to braid her new roce cord as Teltoli talks, shadowed gold-brown eyes thoughtful. When he asks her what she's been doing, she holds up the steadily lengthening nettle cord. "New cord for my roce," she explains, nodding towards the short, thick stick lying beside her. "The old one's getting a bit frayed."

Riala falls silent as she looks out on the parade grounds, the rare expression of uncertainty on her scarred features showcasing an internal battle within. The silence stretches on, broken only by the almost inaudible swishing of fur against cloth as her paws continue to braid. "Teltoli, about that sparring match last season..." She trails off, not entirely sure what she wants to say, nor if she truly wishes to speak it.

Tel leans back slowly, bracing his back against the wooden post. He crosses one of his legs over the other, dangling one leather wrapped footpaw up in the air. He bounces it slowly up and down, watching the sky grow pink in the coming evening. He listens intently to Riala speak about her roce's new cord. As she speaks Tel leans to the side and picks up his dagger. he feels the keen edge of his weapon with his uninjured paw and, raising the blade to his eye level, sights along it to the other side of the porch. He lowers it as he hears his friend bring up the spar they had some time before.

"Ah yes, our spar last season..." Tel speaks lightly, sighing contentedly as he finishes. He does not wish to pressure his friend into talking about it if she is not ready to. However, his right ear twitches instinctively towards a thin scar from a roce that now traces it's way from above his right eye to the side of his head, one of a few battle scars the hare sports.

Riala ties off the cord and begins tying it to a notch in her roce, paws moving slowly, haltingly, as she forces the words out. "I told myself... after that... that I wouldn't... wouldn't let my instincts take over like that... not again. But..." The uncertainty in the typically harsh voice, in the gold-brown eyes, is uncharacteristic for the red-brown squirrel. Then again, she hasn't really been herself for the past season... not since that fateful spar, not since her mission in the underground slave camp. She's told nobeast the details of her time in those dark tunnels, said only what was necessary in the report of her mission - only the tactics and the roles of certain creatures and the battle's cost. Nobeast knows precisely what transpired in the slave pit, where she'd posed as a slave. But it's impossible not to know that something had happened, for there'd been a change in Riala... She's been more troubled, more unsure, and she frequently grips the clay ocarina that hung about her neck.

This she does now, almost unconsciously, one scarred red-brown paw clenched about the russet clay. "Underground, in tha mission... during th' battle... I couldn't fight without letting mae instincts take control." Her northern accent becomes the slightest bit more noticeable, betraying the difficulty she had in speaking these words. "I'd had tae fight two battles at once... inside an' out. It nearly killed mae... almost let others get killed because... I was too scared tae lose control an' fight th' only way I ken how."

She takes a deep breath, realizes she's clutching the little pendant ocarina, lets it fall to rest on the mottled forest-shaded tunic. When she resumes speaking, she has regained enough control over her emotions to lessen the strength of her accent. "I need to learn to fight without being controlled only by my instincts... without the bloodwrath. That means I need to spar, to practice, but... I can't use bladed weapons. There's too much of a chance of somebeast getting hurt- badly hurt. I'd have to use wooden ones, a wood substitute for my dagger... Whenever you're recovered- in a week's time, more, whichever- do you think... do you think you'd be able to spar with me? If you don't, that's fine," she adds hastily. "I'd understand, after last time..."

The hare's eyes close slowly as he listens to his friend, not because he was tired but trying to understand the battle Riala must be going through. Though he has been in many battles near his home and abroad, the hare has always remained in control of himself, never suffered such a thing as the blood wrath. He feels the need to help his friend even though he cannot understand the depth of Riala's turmoil. He nods slowly as she finishes speaking. Tel knows it's hard for Riala to talk about such matters, and he notes the northern accent in her voice as a sign of this. Tracing his paw down his scar he speaks in a kind voice. "Ah Riala, I've jolly well been waitin fer yah teh ask me teh spar with yah. Twould be an honor teh be sure." The hare pauses in thought for a moment before continuing. "I know, it has been a long hard road fer yah matie. Jest know that I'm here fer yah whenevah yah need me..."

Tel suddenly decides to lighten the mood, knowing that Riala usually does not like to have such long conversations. His jovial tone returns and a smile spreads across his features. "What's a fellow platoon 4 beast fer anyhoo wot! Bet twill take less than a week fer this ol hare teh heal." Feeling a bit tired the hare yawns and stretches a bit painfully, contradicting his last statement. He pushes himself up off the beam he had been leaning against and squints into the dying sunlight. Standing slowly he gathers his things. "I think it's bout time fer me tah turn in eh wot! I'll bid yah a good eve tide my friend. I'll be lookin forward teh our spar wot!"

Riala nods slowly as the hare rises. "Good night, Teltoli... and thank you," she adds in an uncharacteristically soft voice, gazing into the distance, though whether at the snow-capped mountains on the horizon or at some vivid memory, it's hard to tell.