~Ok, first off, I'd like to apologize for taking so long to get this out. .
. Fanfiction wouldn't let me log in 'till the 19th, but I updated as soon
as I could! ~
~Oh, and there are a few more characters mentioned:~
Sleek: Male otter. Is the personal fashion designer of Princess Sibliline. Favorite colour is Orange. . . and he makes it well known. Is obsessed with his work with different fabrics and colours.
Sibiline, Princess: Female stoat. Is Prince Poynt's sister.
Pom-Pom: Male Weasel. Is the only regular Weasel member of the Prince's court. Enjoys battering any lowly mustlid with his mouse-bladder on a stick.
~Anyways. . . here's the next chapter.~
Sheriff Falshed fumed silently under his breath as he did what he thought was the thousandth summersault that hour.
'When will this humiliation end?'
The weasels had finally given him a gag, so he couldn't voice his complaints. Unfortunately for him, it was made from a part of Scirf's old tunic, and was encrusted lightly with ancient dung from his old profession. The sheriff wrinkled his nose at the thought. *
The band of weasels had been driving him and his soldiers all morning, making them summersault all the way to their destination.
Soon, Castle Rayn came into sight: a combined groan and cheer came from the stoats, slightly muffled from the gags. A cheer because they were nearly home, but a groan as the weasel's made no move to remove either their costumes or the gags.
The talking mouse was skipping along in the front of the group, playing a cheerful tune on a reed pipe. This music was different from the reedy weasel folk songs; **it was fuller in both sound and spirit.
The curiously painted otter was at the back of the group, under the pretence of a strong-jack***, carrying a large boulder of his shoulders that the sheriff was quite sure that four of his soldiers couldn't budge. Still, the otter managed to keep up, even threatening the stoats somewhat that if they lagged behind, he'd drop the boulder on their backs.
When they approached the castle gates, the sheriff thought that the gate guards would realize their plight, or at least recognize his *stately* self. But the guards admitted the group with various teeth-clickings to the other soldiers patrolling the battlements, calling that entertainment had arrived for the prince.
The group paraded through the streets, to the front gate of the castle. They entered the throne room to much applauding; the stoat aristocrats of the prince's court where all assembled.
The weasels prodded the stoats into synchronized, er. . . somersaulting; in different patterns to the cheerful tune of Nimbalo's flute.
The weasel band, meanwhile, where rhythmically swaying in a form of Weasel dance to the same music.
Soon, the song was done, and the weasels danced to the front door.
All according to the plan.
This left Tagg and companion, as well as all the stoats, in the throne room.
The otter addressed the prince, using a fake accent, as he set down the boulder with a *thump* that reverberated around the room. Any of the stoat aristocrats who'd originally believed the stone on his shoulders to the be fake immediately squashed their opinions.
"Oh, mighty Prince," Tagg said with a bow. "My companions and I have traveled far to your courts to give you this presentation.
Here Nimbalo continued with a flourishing bow. "We hope that you 'ave enjoyed thyselves,"
Here, Prince Poynt clicked his teeth; his overly-large belly shook. "Indeed I have, performers. You're a better jester than my own Pom-Pom!"
At this comment, a normally cheerful looking weasel in jester attire emerged from behind the Prince's throne with a glower on his face.
Nimbalo grinned at this. "For sure, good Prince! But attend here! Do you recognize. . ." here he paused dramatically, "IThis/I stoat?"
With this comment, the harvest mouse swiftly tore off the colourful material that covered the sheriff's uniform, removing the gag as he did so.
The prince studied the uniform and painted face of the stoat with a dim look in his eyes.
"Indeed, I don't." he said finally.
"Prince Poynt! It's me, your loyal second in command, Sheriff Falshed!"
"Why are you a jester then?" the Prince asked stupidly.
The sheriff gave a sigh. "Thy soldiers and I where captured by the weasel Sylver's band, as well as this otter and his-" the prince cut him off.
"What?! There aren't any weasel's here!" His sister whispered in his ear, and after a minute, he nodded slowly.
"Guards! Seize the painty-faced otter and that. . ." The ermine stoat squinted at Nimbalo. "Thing." He finished.
His sister again whispered into his ear. "Oh," he added. "And you might as well untie the other soldiers while you're at it."
During these orders, Tagg ran to Nimbalo and handed the harvest mouse his battleaxe, which had been concealed on the otter's back, under the silks.
Pom-Pom then joyfully descended on Nimbalo and Tagg, battering them with his beloved mouse-bladder on a stick.
Fortunately for the two, but not for the jester, all of the guards where all on the ramparts outside, out of hearing and sight.
Tagg swiftly drew Sawney's blade and popped the jester's 'pride and joy'. Nimbalo growled at the weasel, baring his incisors at the deflated looking jester, who was staring dumbly at his even more deflated looking 'balloon'.
The otter ignored the weasel's expression, and appealed to the Prince; he was in no mood to slay dozy guards. . . it just wasn't a part of the plan.
"Hear us out, oh Prince. Your soldiers have come to no harm, all we wish is to have a place to live for a while. . ." After a pause, he added, ". . . in freedom." The weasels had warned him about the nature of the Prince; knowing him, he'd imprison them in the dungeons and expect them to thank him for it.
The Prince Sneered at him. "And if I choose to just send you to the dungeons? What of that?" Nimbalo raised his eyebrows.
"Let us just say that that would be a very . . . difficult task for your sun-lazed guards. If they would attempt to do so, we would slay many of them, I believe, before they would succeed in detaining us." The mouse gave his ax an experimental swish, and his companion licked his dagger blade menacingly.
"Point taken." The Prince said, and with an unusual amount of understanding (for him)m he ordered, "You may have a room, but you mustn't leave the castle walls, neither will you kill any stoats." Tagg noticed that he said nothing of weasels, but didn't comment.
"Also, I would like you to put on an act, every week at an appointed time, for my entertainment. Do you agree to the terms?"
Tagg bowed, and motioned for Nimbalo to do so as well. "Thank you, Prince." The otter said graciously.
Princess Sibiline again whispered in her brother's ear. The ermine prince pointed to an immaculately dressed young otter among the stoat aristocrats.
"Sleek, you are to show these two around the castle and it's grounds. Dismissed." He ordered. Sleek nodded and motioned for Nimbalo and Tagg to follow him.
Once they were safely away from the castle, up on the ramparts, away from the guards, he spoke to them excitedly.
"That was brilliant, the way you brought in those stoat soldiers. . . just brilliant. I'm Sleek, by the way, the Official Fashion designer of Princess Sibliline, and all of Castle Rayn. How do you do?" Tagg smiled at the younger otter's enthusiasm.
In fact, Sleek wasn't much younger than Tagg himself, it was just the tattooed otter's size that made it seem that way.
"Pleased t'meet you, I'm sure. My name's Tagg, an' this is my matey Nimbalo the Slayer."
Sleek raised an eyebrow at this. "The Slayer? That's an odd na-" he was interrupted by the harvest mouse, who had bared his teeth. "It's m'name. . . is that a problem?" The younger otter shook his head, but stared at the teeth.
"You're teeth are incredibly rodent-like. . . If I may ask, what kind of mustlid are you?"
Nimbalo snorted and looked away. "Inquisitive young type, ain't you? I ain't no mustlid. I'm an 'arvest mouse. Always was, always will be."
Sleek's already surprised eyes widened even further. "What? What do you mean?"
Tagg was uncomfortable with the situation, "We're not from around here." He said shortly.
The younger otter seemed to accept this. Then, he noticed Tagg's cloak. ****
"What's that made of?" he pointed.
"This?" Tagg asked, surprised. "I'm not quite sure. . . some friends gave it to me for my travels. . . it's waterproof, an' it doubles as a coracle sail.
"Fascinating. . ." he muttered sincerely. "What's that made of?" the younger otter pointed to Tagg's rough kilt.
The tattooed otter shrugged. "It's just barkcloth, dyed red. Nothing more."
Apparently is wasn't nothing more, not to Sleek anyway. The young fashion designer took a deep breath, preparing for a barrage of questions, but Nimbalo interrupted him with a paw pointed at the horizon.
"'Scuze me, mates, but what the _______***** is that?" Tagg glanced over, and did a double take.
The hills of the horizon where completely covered in swarms of marsh rats. . . armed to the teeth.
To be continued. . .
*Aww. . . poor Falshed. . . He really is my favorite Welkin Weasel character. ^^ Remember, you'd be pretty irritable too after doing what he's been through.
**Weasel folk songs are traditionally high and screechy-sounding, and I can't tell you more than that. It explains this somewhere in the books, but I can't find where right now, and I'm too lazy to spend more than 30 seconds looking. -_-; Just take my word for it, ok?
***Remember, as I mentioned before, Jack = Man, so strong-jack = strong- man. . . got it?
****You know, that cloak that he got from the vole family, that doubled as a coracle sail? That cloak.
*****By the way. . . how does Nimbalo swear? I know that otters are like "By the Roarin' River!" and hedgehogs are something like "By the spikes and stickles", or something. . . But I've no clue how mice swear. . . do they even swear at all? O_o
~And so ends another chapter. . . my longest yet, I think. I'm not going to be updating any of my fics for nearly a week, (although that's nothing new), but I have a valid excuse this time! I'm going to be on a four day band trip to British Columbia, and unfortunately, we're not allowed to bring laptops and/or modems/internet cables. :( I'll write lots though, and I'm going to finish off Tammia Windfur for sure! (I think. . . hope. . .) Well, why don't you read some of my fics, or eve my sister's in the meantime? Please? Oh, and review. . . I'd like some encouragement. ~
~Oh, and there are a few more characters mentioned:~
Sleek: Male otter. Is the personal fashion designer of Princess Sibliline. Favorite colour is Orange. . . and he makes it well known. Is obsessed with his work with different fabrics and colours.
Sibiline, Princess: Female stoat. Is Prince Poynt's sister.
Pom-Pom: Male Weasel. Is the only regular Weasel member of the Prince's court. Enjoys battering any lowly mustlid with his mouse-bladder on a stick.
~Anyways. . . here's the next chapter.~
Sheriff Falshed fumed silently under his breath as he did what he thought was the thousandth summersault that hour.
'When will this humiliation end?'
The weasels had finally given him a gag, so he couldn't voice his complaints. Unfortunately for him, it was made from a part of Scirf's old tunic, and was encrusted lightly with ancient dung from his old profession. The sheriff wrinkled his nose at the thought. *
The band of weasels had been driving him and his soldiers all morning, making them summersault all the way to their destination.
Soon, Castle Rayn came into sight: a combined groan and cheer came from the stoats, slightly muffled from the gags. A cheer because they were nearly home, but a groan as the weasel's made no move to remove either their costumes or the gags.
The talking mouse was skipping along in the front of the group, playing a cheerful tune on a reed pipe. This music was different from the reedy weasel folk songs; **it was fuller in both sound and spirit.
The curiously painted otter was at the back of the group, under the pretence of a strong-jack***, carrying a large boulder of his shoulders that the sheriff was quite sure that four of his soldiers couldn't budge. Still, the otter managed to keep up, even threatening the stoats somewhat that if they lagged behind, he'd drop the boulder on their backs.
When they approached the castle gates, the sheriff thought that the gate guards would realize their plight, or at least recognize his *stately* self. But the guards admitted the group with various teeth-clickings to the other soldiers patrolling the battlements, calling that entertainment had arrived for the prince.
The group paraded through the streets, to the front gate of the castle. They entered the throne room to much applauding; the stoat aristocrats of the prince's court where all assembled.
The weasels prodded the stoats into synchronized, er. . . somersaulting; in different patterns to the cheerful tune of Nimbalo's flute.
The weasel band, meanwhile, where rhythmically swaying in a form of Weasel dance to the same music.
Soon, the song was done, and the weasels danced to the front door.
All according to the plan.
This left Tagg and companion, as well as all the stoats, in the throne room.
The otter addressed the prince, using a fake accent, as he set down the boulder with a *thump* that reverberated around the room. Any of the stoat aristocrats who'd originally believed the stone on his shoulders to the be fake immediately squashed their opinions.
"Oh, mighty Prince," Tagg said with a bow. "My companions and I have traveled far to your courts to give you this presentation.
Here Nimbalo continued with a flourishing bow. "We hope that you 'ave enjoyed thyselves,"
Here, Prince Poynt clicked his teeth; his overly-large belly shook. "Indeed I have, performers. You're a better jester than my own Pom-Pom!"
At this comment, a normally cheerful looking weasel in jester attire emerged from behind the Prince's throne with a glower on his face.
Nimbalo grinned at this. "For sure, good Prince! But attend here! Do you recognize. . ." here he paused dramatically, "IThis/I stoat?"
With this comment, the harvest mouse swiftly tore off the colourful material that covered the sheriff's uniform, removing the gag as he did so.
The prince studied the uniform and painted face of the stoat with a dim look in his eyes.
"Indeed, I don't." he said finally.
"Prince Poynt! It's me, your loyal second in command, Sheriff Falshed!"
"Why are you a jester then?" the Prince asked stupidly.
The sheriff gave a sigh. "Thy soldiers and I where captured by the weasel Sylver's band, as well as this otter and his-" the prince cut him off.
"What?! There aren't any weasel's here!" His sister whispered in his ear, and after a minute, he nodded slowly.
"Guards! Seize the painty-faced otter and that. . ." The ermine stoat squinted at Nimbalo. "Thing." He finished.
His sister again whispered into his ear. "Oh," he added. "And you might as well untie the other soldiers while you're at it."
During these orders, Tagg ran to Nimbalo and handed the harvest mouse his battleaxe, which had been concealed on the otter's back, under the silks.
Pom-Pom then joyfully descended on Nimbalo and Tagg, battering them with his beloved mouse-bladder on a stick.
Fortunately for the two, but not for the jester, all of the guards where all on the ramparts outside, out of hearing and sight.
Tagg swiftly drew Sawney's blade and popped the jester's 'pride and joy'. Nimbalo growled at the weasel, baring his incisors at the deflated looking jester, who was staring dumbly at his even more deflated looking 'balloon'.
The otter ignored the weasel's expression, and appealed to the Prince; he was in no mood to slay dozy guards. . . it just wasn't a part of the plan.
"Hear us out, oh Prince. Your soldiers have come to no harm, all we wish is to have a place to live for a while. . ." After a pause, he added, ". . . in freedom." The weasels had warned him about the nature of the Prince; knowing him, he'd imprison them in the dungeons and expect them to thank him for it.
The Prince Sneered at him. "And if I choose to just send you to the dungeons? What of that?" Nimbalo raised his eyebrows.
"Let us just say that that would be a very . . . difficult task for your sun-lazed guards. If they would attempt to do so, we would slay many of them, I believe, before they would succeed in detaining us." The mouse gave his ax an experimental swish, and his companion licked his dagger blade menacingly.
"Point taken." The Prince said, and with an unusual amount of understanding (for him)m he ordered, "You may have a room, but you mustn't leave the castle walls, neither will you kill any stoats." Tagg noticed that he said nothing of weasels, but didn't comment.
"Also, I would like you to put on an act, every week at an appointed time, for my entertainment. Do you agree to the terms?"
Tagg bowed, and motioned for Nimbalo to do so as well. "Thank you, Prince." The otter said graciously.
Princess Sibiline again whispered in her brother's ear. The ermine prince pointed to an immaculately dressed young otter among the stoat aristocrats.
"Sleek, you are to show these two around the castle and it's grounds. Dismissed." He ordered. Sleek nodded and motioned for Nimbalo and Tagg to follow him.
Once they were safely away from the castle, up on the ramparts, away from the guards, he spoke to them excitedly.
"That was brilliant, the way you brought in those stoat soldiers. . . just brilliant. I'm Sleek, by the way, the Official Fashion designer of Princess Sibliline, and all of Castle Rayn. How do you do?" Tagg smiled at the younger otter's enthusiasm.
In fact, Sleek wasn't much younger than Tagg himself, it was just the tattooed otter's size that made it seem that way.
"Pleased t'meet you, I'm sure. My name's Tagg, an' this is my matey Nimbalo the Slayer."
Sleek raised an eyebrow at this. "The Slayer? That's an odd na-" he was interrupted by the harvest mouse, who had bared his teeth. "It's m'name. . . is that a problem?" The younger otter shook his head, but stared at the teeth.
"You're teeth are incredibly rodent-like. . . If I may ask, what kind of mustlid are you?"
Nimbalo snorted and looked away. "Inquisitive young type, ain't you? I ain't no mustlid. I'm an 'arvest mouse. Always was, always will be."
Sleek's already surprised eyes widened even further. "What? What do you mean?"
Tagg was uncomfortable with the situation, "We're not from around here." He said shortly.
The younger otter seemed to accept this. Then, he noticed Tagg's cloak. ****
"What's that made of?" he pointed.
"This?" Tagg asked, surprised. "I'm not quite sure. . . some friends gave it to me for my travels. . . it's waterproof, an' it doubles as a coracle sail.
"Fascinating. . ." he muttered sincerely. "What's that made of?" the younger otter pointed to Tagg's rough kilt.
The tattooed otter shrugged. "It's just barkcloth, dyed red. Nothing more."
Apparently is wasn't nothing more, not to Sleek anyway. The young fashion designer took a deep breath, preparing for a barrage of questions, but Nimbalo interrupted him with a paw pointed at the horizon.
"'Scuze me, mates, but what the _______***** is that?" Tagg glanced over, and did a double take.
The hills of the horizon where completely covered in swarms of marsh rats. . . armed to the teeth.
To be continued. . .
*Aww. . . poor Falshed. . . He really is my favorite Welkin Weasel character. ^^ Remember, you'd be pretty irritable too after doing what he's been through.
**Weasel folk songs are traditionally high and screechy-sounding, and I can't tell you more than that. It explains this somewhere in the books, but I can't find where right now, and I'm too lazy to spend more than 30 seconds looking. -_-; Just take my word for it, ok?
***Remember, as I mentioned before, Jack = Man, so strong-jack = strong- man. . . got it?
****You know, that cloak that he got from the vole family, that doubled as a coracle sail? That cloak.
*****By the way. . . how does Nimbalo swear? I know that otters are like "By the Roarin' River!" and hedgehogs are something like "By the spikes and stickles", or something. . . But I've no clue how mice swear. . . do they even swear at all? O_o
~And so ends another chapter. . . my longest yet, I think. I'm not going to be updating any of my fics for nearly a week, (although that's nothing new), but I have a valid excuse this time! I'm going to be on a four day band trip to British Columbia, and unfortunately, we're not allowed to bring laptops and/or modems/internet cables. :( I'll write lots though, and I'm going to finish off Tammia Windfur for sure! (I think. . . hope. . .) Well, why don't you read some of my fics, or eve my sister's in the meantime? Please? Oh, and review. . . I'd like some encouragement. ~