Misadventures

Help Me, Please

War of the Four Banners

Redwall Long Tail. Get it. Cause Tail is like Tale. Get it.

It was afternoon as two divisions of the Southward army marched in a long line up and down the highlands of southern Mossflower, the day being as warm as ever. The dry and mixed color of green and brown clashed against the yellow clad army which moved at a reasonable pace from one end to the other. To those who were more distant, such a force seemed like a fancy painting, oily and ornate as the army seemed almost to blend into the land they were marching upon.

This however was not the truth, as Dapan could tell any beast that what was happening was far from natural.

"Are dey even trying!?" Dapan couldn't help it any longer, his face was red, pulling on the cart with all of his might as he tried to bring the cart up a hill. The others in front of him were doing their best, but none were more so dramatic as Dapan. Four soldiers were helping the serfs keep up pace by two pushing on the back, and another two from the sides pushing the cart full of supplies up the hill. Moran was halfhearted in trying to help, which was what he usually did when it came to helping his father with heavy carts. "Moron! Ya even pulling!?"

"Ya, I am!"

"Den do it harder!"

The struggle was noted by Gasger who looked utterly amused, even smirking at the group slowly but surely pulled the huge cart up the hill. Martha called behind her to Moran "Ya listen to yer pa, or it'll be me paw ya gotta worry about Bigfang."

There was a loud and audible sigh from Moran who tried a bit harder to help as the group was up and over the hill after a long struggle. The creature waiting for them there was Raskar who seemed deeply amused as well, as if waiting to see them. He mouthed the words 'leashed beetle' to Moran in particular before getting back into line. Dapan grunted as the group continued, only to end up looking down the hill.

"Oh der hell." Dapan grunted "Where der heck we goin anyway?"

"If I had to guess, into Mossflower." Zardan shrugged, his eyes peering beyond the hills and towards the main flatland which flowed into a larger forest. He gulped "Which may not be much better. We'll be pushing dis whole cart over rocks an' roots fer sure."

Moran perked up with some hope, even smiled at a certain thought. Mossflower was home to many beasts, the most important being the Long Patrol, and it was forested. A single thought of freedom crossed his mind, although it was only for a moment. The pain in his back began to act up again and he winced, but quickly he found himself being approached once again by a somewhat familiar face, a squirrel in a white and yellow uniform.

"Here, here. Take this, don't worry, I haven't forgotten Moran."

Moran had been given a small cup of foul-smelling roots which he winced at first. He had gotten to know this beast, Raman's medic named Mayla. All Moran knew was that Gulan was good friends with her, and that she had been providing him with these pain nulling drugs which turned a nasty troubled lash mark into a dull itch. Mayla had come to know Moran a bit more but was coming to know Martha more. Martha looked back, nodding in approval to Mayla as the group continued to pull and push.

"Hold!" There was a order coming from up front as the group began to stop. Gulan approached as he announced to the group "We rest here till evening, we'll be camping a far off ways at the far end of the hill. I know it'll be a long climb, but we'll make it by tonight!"

There was a sound of total relief from the group as Dapan nearly fell, grumbling to himself. He was about to let himself off the rope leash around his waist, but Gasger held up his paw "Oh no, you can rest right there you four. We won't be resting for that long."

"Ya dink were gonna run." Zardan chided. Gasger rolled his eyes "From how you lazy, barbarous creatures seem to bring up these carts, not really. However, I am not going to have the soldiers carry the carts if one of you do decide to try it in your place."

"Gasger, if I may, I want to clean this beast's wounds." Mayla asked, pointing to Moran. Gasger shook his head and argued "He'll heal on the road, Mayla. Or you can do your work here, I wont–"

"Gasger, let Mayla do her work." Gulan spoke in a much more serious voice. Gasger turned to him, an anger settling in his eyes. There was a tense pause between the two before the hare finally relented "You have a few moments, don't make me regret it. Those shackles remain on."

Moran didn't resist as Mayla calmly and cautiously removed the ropes around him, and was guided away from the group as the other rested. Not far behind them, Valtman and his division were resting on a similar hill, with Bluebell having called for a longer rest. Mayla began to make orders of Moran "Alright, get your shirt off. Gotta make sure those lash wounds don't get infected."

"Was I damaged wit poison!?" Moran said a bit shocked. Mayla held her tongue, partly realizing from her conversations in brief with Martha, the vermin didn't understand much about Southward sciences and theories. She tried to explain "Well, no. Wounds fester, Moran. If they aren't cleaned rightly, wounds get worse. Gotta make sure my stitches are also still holding, since, well, you are doing a lot of heavy work."

Moran grew a bit reluctant, giving her a weird look. He had an itch of resistance, up until he heard a voice behind him. "Moran, do as she says."

Moran turned in sudden surprise to see Raman behind him, the otter coldly looking down at him as Mayla arose to salute him. Moran paused in fear of him, afraid he had done something wrong without knowing. Raman didn't like waiting for so long, ordering him more directly "Moran, let our medic do her work."

Moran did so as Mayla guided the young weasel on the rock. Beneath his fine yellow jacket and tunic, white and rugged bandages were surrounding him. Yet the back, a line of black and red could be unmistakably seen. Raman came around, looking down and speaking in a rather chiding manner to Mayla "Mayla, I'd prefer we aren't wasting our resources. If you had such concern for this creature, I'd prefer it you bring it up with me."

Mayla huffed "I'm sorry sir, but I kinda figured you'd have said no." Mayla focused on her work, unwrapping the old bandages. Raman shook his head "You know full well I am not like that, though I would have ordered to lay down so much of those herbs. Those aren't cheap you know."

"I know, it's just–" Mayla sighed and looked up at Raman, his shadow over the two "Well. I'm certain your brother already mentioned it."

Raman looked between her and Moran who still looked rather fearful and frozen. Once the bandages were unfurled, Raman could see the full extent of his work. He blinked, uncaring to what he saw, the bumps were healing but fragile. "They look to be healing quite well then. Good."

Mayla frowned as she arose "It's healing well, but I would like to–"

Raman ignored her and came to the front of Moran and bidded him to rise. Moran slowly did, keeping his paws close and looking quite fearful of him. Raman kept his paws behind his back, looking at him up and down. "Are you feeling fine, Moran?"

He nodded, which made the otter frown a bit. "Say 'Yes sir', Moran."

"Y-yes, sir."

"Good." Raman came closer "I hope you don't end up like your father, who tests my patience. Had it been him to steal from me, he would not be pulling that cart with you. Consider yourself immensely lucky that your age forbids me from doing further harm to you. Now, you aren't going to steal again because you know the consequences of doing so. Vermin like you may think you could get away with it without a guiding paw forever, but that changes now. This isn't a threat. This is a demand. Are you going to keep to our order?"

Moran gulped "Yes, sir."

Raman nodded "That is all I ask, and if you can do that, there is rewards in your future. Do be more like that better talking creature, Rasan. Mayla. I think he is fine to continue?" Raman turned his attention to her, and she nodded, although didn't look happy with it. Raman nodded back and turned around, returning to the front of his army. Once gone, Mayla approached Moran who was on the verge of weeping. Keeping it in, he returned with the medic to his fate.

Raman kept his eyes in front as the division moved on, although a group of soldiers also kept up pace farther in front of him acting as scouts. He never particularly liked walking so far and doing so little for such long periods of time, but it did calm his mind as he flipped through the pages of Shackleford's Cycle of Atrocity. The otter liked to think he was not as learned as the scholars back at home, but it was almost comforting to know he was expanding his mind on subjects which were not very well taught, let alone well read.

Vermin do not grow or produce anything of value that could be considered a traditional economy, so it is quite a serious trouble that they still have a means of producing weapons, clothes, grain, and any other manner of products which do not necessarily seem possible for a slave economy to produce. Slave economies are infamously quite unproductive, and favor a land-owning class, but the problem is that the vermin have no such class. They have warlords and those subordinate to them, a form of feudal structure like our own Southward which shouldn't be fully possible. So, one must ask the question. Why do vermin of such caliber live in such a strange system, and how does it function? The feudal structure of Salamandastron is strangely similar, although clearly not the same. I would never imply openly that such a thing is possible, but what be taken into account is that vermin economies have a strange affinity to their neighbors.

The passage was quite striking as Raman made his mental notes of it. He believed every word on every page, coming to see how the vermin couldn't produce anything other than trash, and had to rely on the likes of woodlanders to make things. Bah. Barbarians. Raman then began to think a bit, lifting his head from his book, his thoughts turned to Dapan and his family. Strange then, for a beast who claims to be a producer of that swill, there was no mention of some woodlander thrall? Perhaps I should have checked his home. Hmmm. Raman's thoughts were interrupted when he got a nudge from his side, and he looked to find the upset face of Gulan looking back at him.

"Gulan. Is something the matter?" Raman said with clear annoyance to his tone. Gulan rolled his eyes. "Maybe, but depends honestly. Ya really gotta intimidate every single one of them weasels? If you want, you can scare those two little ones next. Probably soil their–"

"Is there a point to this little speech?" Raman demanded. Gulan paused before he spoke, testing the waters. "Beasts talk, Raman. What you said and acted like to Mayla and Moran was quite cruel. Even for you. Brother, we are–"

"We are in a bleeding army, Gulan." Raman interrupted quickly, slapping his book and putting it into a pouch. "I am bound by Frankfort's command and my own honor as a Coastlord to tolerate those things I have pulling my wagons. I mean my words, if that boy is changing, then good! We have more serious troubles to worry about, like Long Patrol or hostile vermin. Lest you forget, we are going into what may be a war zone. As an officer of Southward, I hope you can look past such things to serve the country."

Gulan continued to give that upset look to his brother and shook his head "Don't think I like it, brother."

"It's sir."

"Hmmm?"

"Sir. You say 'Yes sir' to me, Gulan. You may be my bleeding brother, but I am your superior here as well as back home."

Gulan mocking raised his voice "Oh yes, yer majesty. May I take my leave, or you'd want me to kiss your signet ring, oh lord of lords!" Raman didn't look amused as Gulan spoke in a much more hostile tone to his brother "Oh get over yourself, Raman. You are all on about order, but you ever consider something?"

"And what exactly am I supposed to be considering?"

"The Bellmaker bided us to be kind and courteous to our serfs, to provide for them, an in turn they work for us and provide the resources to expand and built a better home for all good beasts. What exactly do you think you are showing them, Raman? You and Gasger made it perfectly clear that if they fall out of line, they'll get lashed and starved. You think that is what–"

Raman's eyes went wide with anger, yelling at Gulan "Enough!"

There was a silence as the group nearly stopped to turn to their captain, causing an awkwardness. He turned to one of his soldiers, ordering them to continue as he took the shoulder of his brother and rushed him to the side of the army, fully stopping. Raman was furious, but Gulan stood his ground as the captain growled at him.

"Gulan, don't you bleeding dare use that against me. You don't have the right! I sacrificed much and gave up a lot to be here, for this army, even as father practically begged me to stay in our home! You? You begged father to buy your way into this position, because you don't want to work for it, when it should have been given to any other beast who was twice as deserving! You don't get to use that foolery on me, Gulan." Gulan and Raman looked at one another, both in disgust. Raman calmed down partly, breathing in and out as he pinched his nose. Gulan felt a bit awkward as he was the first to speak.

"Apologies, Raman, I–"

"No, no. No need, as your superior officer I should be listening." Raman sighed. "Gulan, I am not doing what I am doing out of cruelty, but out of mercy. If we don't show intimidation to these beasts, they will act out of line. That is how they are and will continue to act. Don't think of me as some intolerant fool. I don't enjoy what I do, as much as I don't enjoy punishing a disobedient soldier. Let us just drop this issue and continue. Which reminds me."

Raman took Shackleford's book out of his pouch and handed to Gulan "It is no longer optional, it's a requirement, Gulan. One chapter a day, so seven chapters a week. Once you read more from our resident scholar, you'll understand."

Gulan frowned and looked down at the book as Raman returned to the army. He thought of his brother and couldn't help but sigh. He flipped the pages of the book only briefly and put it beneath his arm. He wasn't sure he wanted to read it, but he would just put it off for later. Hoping it would not turn him into his brother.

Raman continued to look forward at the wild lands of Mossflower, and although to most beasts it would have been seen as tranquil, to Raman and many Southwarders, it was quite depressing. Raman, like many, had many previous views of Mossflower as a land perhaps equal if not greater than their own. This was afterall the homeland of the Bellmaker, and the land of legends, tales, and a buffer against the vermin of the north. Where he had tempered his expectations of perhaps smaller and more primitive castles, there was instead a creepily lack of any infrastructure, building, or even a people who could be called 'citizen' or 'lord'. Raman gave a long look, thinking to himself. He moved his mouth to the side, overthinking about the way he spoke to his brother. He felt he was in the right, but perhaps had spoken too much.

As they continued, he noticed one of his scouts coming back in quite a hurry but was interrupted by Gasger.

"With your permission, sir. I would like to use my whip."

Raman gave a concerned, although also bored, look to Gasger who had appeared beside him. "The rat, Zardan, says he has quite a bad back. Your brother and his soldiers are taking over. I hate to play games like this, sir. Though, I do need your expressed permission and blessing."

"Zardan? The older rat?"

"Aye, sir. The lazy rat we have. Rasan has been quite open in telling me that it's all a ploy."

"You believe him?"

"Partly. Vermin as we know are all liars, but the beast sounds quite convinced." Raman sighed and thought it over. "Hold off for now, Gasger. Though if it becomes a bit too obvious, and my brother gets a bit too forceful, inform me."

The scout came up to Raman with a bit of a huff, having waited for him to stop speaking to Gasger before speaking himself "My lord, there is a wagon on the side of the road. Looks like a carnival wagon of sorts, but we saw no beast near it."

Raman nodded and the group continued forward and eventually grided to a halt. Raman and Gasger followed the scout, flanked by two soldiers. As they moved however, Raman was surprised to find himself marching next to Gulan as well who was not alone. Gulan was trailed by the two rats, Raskar and Zardan who were eyeing each other with increasing spite. Rasker was no longer carrying anything, and the mystery of why they had appeared became more apparent as they spoke.

"Der difference is, I am old. Yer not. Yer gonna one day, perhaps hopefully, get as old as I an' den we'll see how much ya can complain on dat."

"If ya live dat long, worm brain." Rasker mocked. Gulan looked rather upset at Gasger, scowling "Gasger, we were nearly losing the bleeding wagon. Besides, this favorite of yours wasn't even carrying much. Just have them trade places."

Gasger rolled his eyes as Raman exchanged a look to him. Gasger continued to defend himself "It's a serf, it shouldn't need to have such troubles."

Raman looked at Zardan who was clutching his back, being partly bent. Zardan had noticed, waving his paw at him "Apologies, sir. I truly was haven a bad time, just need a quick minute or two. Ya folk came five years late fer me to be better at dis I am afraid."

"I see." Raman noted, not even noticing as the group came up on the wagon. Perched up on a hill was a big wooden wagon of sort, a small house on wheel. It looked like it had been recently moved, and it was smaller and quite compact. Although, from the various charms, bells, and whistles covering it, along with a long line of dyed cloth and clothes, ragged remains of various trash strewn about, it looked quite dubious. The group stopped far from the wagon, but close enough to see the less fine details, such as hastily repaired sides, rotting paint, and they could smell a curious odor coming from it. The group looked at it, up until Gasger grunted and continued the conversation, his anger turning mostly to Gulan.

"You have your job, Gulan, I have mine. If you so wish to trade, perhaps your brother here would be more than willing to let you handle these wretches, and I can return to my previous work of undoing your mistakes of turning my soldiers into soft bellied, baffoons."

"I'd love to take your job, Gasger, but that would be unfair to bring onto my soldiers your cruelty! Come on, you really getting all uppity of the audacity of helping our serfs carry things?"

"I am upset about your lack of respect for authority, Gulan. How I treat these serfs should be none of your concern."

Raman shushed them "Enough, you two. Gulan, Gasger is my overseer, not you. Gasger, you are indeed my overseer, so oversee better. If we lose supplies because we are overworking some beast and the soldiers have to help to keep up pace, that looks poorly on you. Now, let's all keep on task, the nefarious vermin are our enemy, and we should be focusing on them alone. They could be anywhere, and the more we squabble, the more likely they will amb–" As if on cue, the door suddenly opened to the wagon in a wide swing, and out came a big and ragged fox with a long and warm smile on his face.

"Ah, most good, eh! Customers! I must introduce meself, der name is Wiffan der Magician, a master of secret yore an' medicines from across der whole of der world! I got medicines dat come as far as Southward, ya know, an' even got some of der best smokeweed from Noonvale itself! As a humble merchant, I beseech thee, to come an' look at me wares!" The fox gave everyone a shock, as Raman and his companions looked him over. He wore this colorful yellow and red cloak connected by a rope where a chain should be, having this large feathered cap and his tunic being somewhat torn and ragged. He looked a lot richer than any vermin he ever saw, and his friendliness caught him off guard. Raman was about to raise his voice when the fox came over with a big glass jar full of some brown liquid.

"Me prices be der best in all of Mossflower, strange, yella clad folk! Ya ever try Southward cinnamon? Best stuff to smoke dey say, can cure all manner of ailments. Ya can trust good ol' Wiffan, eh!"

The group blinked, but the fox's jovial attitude stopped when Zardan came up, and the two locked eyes. The fox's happy smile turned quickly into a frown, backing up rather quickly as Zardan yelled in surprise.

"You!" The fox gave a rather dramatic scream and immediately scurried back to his mobile home, followed very closely by a ranting Zardan. Gasger came forward, trying to get a hold of the rat, but Zardan was rather quick much to the Southwarder's surprise as he grabbed onto the fox's tail and yanked him out of his home before he could even get inside "I know ya! Get back out of here, ya bleeding cretan!"

"Mercy! Mercy!" The fox screamed, and escaped the weak Zardan's grasp and hurried behind Raman, trying to shield himself behind the otter. "Me good sirs, that rat is a bleeden liar he is! Don't trust a word he says! He's a bandit I tell ya, an' bad at everyding he does! Good river dog, ya gotta believe ol' Wiffan!"

Raman looked surprised at Zardan who tiringly came over, getting a brief pause to catch his breath before arising and yelling at the fox behind "Oh cut it out, yer name ain't even 'Wiffan' ya bleeding connie!"

Gasger quickly regained control and took Zardan's shoulder, and held it. The fox seemed almost jovial again with the proclamation "Aye, good long ears! Dat beast deserves to be arrested! An–" The fox made a rather sudden realization when he looked closer, at Zardan's strange uniform and all the woodlanders looking both amazed, terrified, and angry at him. Raman turned his attention to the fox, and spoke loudly "Gasger, take care of this. Leave Zardan, we must talk."

Gasger let go and marched over to 'Wiffan' who spoke with a childish peep "Ummm, good river dog. I ain't one to ask, but ya wouldn't happen to be interested in a business de–" The fox's proposal was interrupted when he was grabbed by Gasger and marched to the back of the line, leaving Raman baffled and Gulan amused.

Zardan sat near the wagon itself as Raman had disappeared briefly only to return with some water in a canteen. Exchanging it with the rat, Zardan gave an affirmative nod, but coughed a few times as well. Raman looked down at him, although from the icy expression on his face, he was neither amused nor happy about the situation.

"I imagine ya got a lot of questions, otter, an' of course I am willen to answer. Though do be patient with me, lad. Age is a cursed ding indeed."

"I do. You know this fox?" Raman coldly demanded. Zardan nodded, drinking the water all the while. "Oh ya, I know him. I know a lot of folk like him too. You got de's younger folk who got de's big aspirations for maken rich in der world, but don't got der gall to actuall go an' get it. Really a shame, knew a few rats me own age who still spend a bit too much time fiddling wit all der baubles an' tricks, but got no real experience uder den getting smacked by a much smarter beast. Connies we call dem, an–"

Raman held up his paw "Zardan, as much as I appreciate information, I was more referring to this particular fox."

"Oh, him? Aye, bleeding cretan came to me camp an' sold me a very bad pack of viddles, had me coughing an' gagging fer weeks. Scammed also a good group of friends of mine too, quite a bad fellow. Tis why ya can never trust a fox, as me ma would always say. Foxes, aye, nutten but a bunch of con beasts an' shamans. De's be smart, but about as smart as a stout who dink's dey be the smartest. Stouts are quite arrogant, an–"

Raman held up his paw again, more firmly, and Zardan stopped. He seemed self aware "Apologies, force of habit."

"I see. Is this beast dangerous?"

Zardan could tell that Raman was looking for an excuse, and his pause somewhat concerned the otter at first. Zardan shrugged and smiled "About as dangerous as Dapan Grassweave, I'm afraid sir. Connies like, well I suppose calling him 'Wiffan' is no harm, ain't bandits if ya dinken he is dangerous. Only about as dangerous to folk he probably scammed from, and from der looks of his cart, quite good at it."

Raman nodded "Thank you, Zardan, an–" Raman was interrupted by the rat who spoke up quickly. "I know what ya be dinken, dat such a beast ain't dat useful an likely yer gonna hang him in der nearby forest."

Raman's eyes widened a bit and paused, Zardan slowly getting up and moving towards the entrance of the wagon and opening the door. Zardan stepped on in, looking about as Raman peaked on in, wanting to at first yell at him but his curiosity got the better of him. "Now, I know what I know cause I'd honestly be dinken der same ding in yer shoes, but before ya remove dat ill cretan from the world, I wanna show ya somethen."

Inside the cart was all manner of thing cluttered about; glass bottles which once held various alcohols now full of random leaves and liquids, pouches of dirty cloth, an unmade bed, and other things which made the otter cringe at. Raman put his paws to the side, watching as Zardan expertly maneuvered around this dirty chaos, getting his own clothes dirty in the process before flipping the bed over and pulling out something. He came over to Raman, handing him a few old coins, one depicting a badger, the other a wildcat.

Raman cocked his head, having never seen a cat before. They looked strange to him, and this one coin had markings he couldn't read. Zardan explained "Most villages ya probably come across don't got much currency, but der ones dat do have it have coins like de's. When cats ruled Mossflower, long ago, dey left behind a currency dat kinda faded away. Der is a mint near Salamandastron itself, but dat don't produce much anymore. One of de's coins are probably some beast's entire year's wages."

"Pilfered from some good and honest beast no doubt." Raman added. Zardan strangely agreed with him "Aye, an' a fox is a smart beast who knows how to play tricks on woodlander an' vermin alike. Ya folk want to make a good impression, I takes it? Der only beast who can return what dey got in dis hut to der rightful owners is der same one ya will probably be senden to der Dark Forest. Der is valuable tools, some precious dings, an' other things 'Wiffan' steals wit his tongue dat I bet a lot of beasts would appreciate dey got back."

Raman gave the rat a surprised look, almost baffled "That is quite interesting, Zardan. I am surprised you would think this up."

"Which of course once dey owe ya a favor, den ya take what ya want from dem as far as I take it." Zardan added. The rat frowned when the otter did, a little disappointed in such a statement. He nodded "Well, it's a step in the right direction. You are–" Raman paused, not sure what to even say. Zardan had given him an excellent point, and he had no clue what to add to it. He blinked "You are mostly right. Thank you. Though I would have preferred you weren't so drastic. No doubt this entire wagon is stolen, everything from top to bottom."

Zardan shrugged "Probably, doh, de's small containers likely be his original design. Ya want me an' der others to sort it out?"

Raman blinked and nodded "I will have Gasger and Gulan watch as you and others do so. You, Rasan, and Opan will form a team, but all approval will come from either of my officers. You can stay here and get started, I trust your vermin instincts to know what is stolen and isn't."

Zardan shrugged and did so as Raman exited and watched as Zardan began to bring up things from the cart. Gulan returned shortly with Gasger, Rasker, and one of the ferret serfs. Gasger and Gulan watched, although 'Wiffan' was brought along and was shackled on his wrists and ankles, looking on in horror as the vermin pilfered his home and livelihood. He was far from silent, kept in line by the few soldiers watching him. "Hey! Ya liver squats! Dat be mine! You der, ferret, be careful, dat is fragile!"

Raman and Gulan watched as the pilfering ended as Zardan and his collegues put the pilfered things into three piles. In total, twenty coins, six large glass jars, some fine luxurious clothes which were partly torn, an otter puppet, a few bottles of wine, and a very large jar of old and moldy cookies were found in total. Yet, the weird thing which was pulled from the wreckage of the wagon was a random set of papers. Some were illegible, but others were artful drawings, an order for painting supplies in a village Raman never heard of, but also a shipping manifest. Raman examined it, not understanding it other than he saw some names and numbers. He gave a curious look to the fox who shrugged.

"I just kinda found it, ya know?"

"Wuper, or Wiffan, or whatever ya callen yerself. No need to lie anymore, dey won't buy it." Zardan ordered. The fox frowned and began to swear "No seriously, there is nothing about it, it's–"

"What is it." Raman ordered.

"Just some western stout's shipping manifest I dinks. Sold dem some flour I said was a healen powder–"

Zardan's voice became suddenly much more serious "How long ago?"

"I mean, a week ago, but ya know–"

"Where."

Gasger came over, slapping Zardan upside the head "Enough from you."

"Gasger, let him speak." Raman demanded. Gasger looked a bit surprised as Zardan nursed his head. He grunted and came over to the fox "Where. Dis is important. Life an' death, cause if dat kinda beast be around, ya gotta tell de's folks. An me."

"Near Welderpen."

"What is it, who is in Welderpen?" Raman didn't know what a Welderpen was, but Zardan turned with a bit of terror in his eyes "I know where it is, an' ya should head der quickly. Slaver is in dat region."

A hedgehog with a pack of things was bounding up the small dirt road, sniffing the fresh air as he headed towards Welderpen. He was garbed in simple wear, being a simple creature as he headed in some general direction far from home. He intended to head towards the village to gather a few food stuffs before heading out towards one of the nearby forestries to find some work. His head was full of ideas, and his optimism was quite sound.

Yet, as he happily bounded up a hill, he stopped when an imposing figure appeared. He gasped, shocked as this large, grunting stout in corsair's garb was limping away with a curved sword in paw. He looked at the hedgehog, stopped only briefly, before trying to go around him. The hedgehog moved to the side, a bit confused as the vermin growled out behind him "Ya ain't getten me alive, ya scum!"

Gulan and Sulch came bounding with a few soldiers with weapons drawn, with Gulan looking particularly angry. The hedgehog watched as one of the soldiers loaded a crossbow and aimed down his sites upon the vermin, firing and catching him the leg. He fell over, bloodied but not beaten as he abandoned his sword and tried to crawl away. Gulan angrily grabbed him by the back of his neck, seething "You killed one of my soldiers as you were surrendering, you wretch!"

"Cry me a river, water dog!" The corsair scoffed and could barely breath as he was being dragged away. The hedgehog was frozen as he looked on, before Sulch came over to him.

"You, why were you letting that slaver escape." He demanded. The hedgehog blurted out "S-slaver? Him? I didn't know, I was just here, and then he came, and you folk came, and what is going on? Why are you folk all yellow? And?" The hedgehog was grabbed by Sulch "You're coming with me."

The hedgehog didn't resist as he was dragged along with the corsair to a large forested site a bit far from the village. Zardan and 'Wiffan' stood next to each other, looking up at the hanged forms of three other stouts, with a group of grateful woodlanders surrounding another group of liberated prisoners. Although, Valtman who looking down personally at another group of freed prisoners turned newly made prisoners which were a wide group of vermin. The corsair growled "Blasted an' damn you fox! Ya had me manifest, an ya send de's murderous beast on me! I curse ya wit all me strength! I hope ya rot in hell!"

Wiffan looked at him mortified, but silent. The fox had gone on quite a makeover, now groomed and having yellow vestments as Zardan patted his shoulder. Wiffan was terrified as the former con artist found the corsair being quickly strung up, with a group of soldiers surrounding a dead Southwarder who had gone to arrest him when the group surrendered, only to be slain by the would-be escapee. Gulan was upset, personally taking a rope and tying a nose for the corsair. The corsair spat, giving a furious look to Wiffan, but his eyes widened when his locked with Zardan. There was fear in his eyes, as Zardan only coldly looked on at him.

"Gulan. That won't be needed." Raman commanded his brother to stop. Gulan did as Raman took a crossbow from the dead soldier's grasp and began to load it. Raman ordered "Gasger. Gulan. Tie this one up, I don't wish to miss."

The two quickly did, tying the corsair to one of the trees as he cursed them openly "I hope god puts yer entire nation into der fire, ya blasted things! Yer all goin to hell, especially you fox! I hope ya all–" The corsair was silenced when a shot pierced his neck, connecting him to the tree. Raman looked on, as the hedgehog looked mortified and shocked at what had happened. Valtman came over and took the bolt from the beast's body and spat at it "Too much effort I say. What we want to do with that lot?"

"One of my serfs thinks they were likely to end up as slaves as well. Though it is hard to account for. We'll leave a garrison in Welderpen and have these stragglers made into serfs, and they can serve the community there. If they are found wanting, our soldiers will deal with them." Raman looked towards the vermin prisoners, partly grateful. Zardan was with them, patting the head of one of the younger vermin who was worried. Valtman grunted "Fair enough, though I want to interrogate them just in case they are lying."

Sulch brought the hedgehog forward to the two captains, the creature looking terrified "Found this one making way for the slaver trying to escape, sir. Thinking he might be a rebel."

"W-what? I don't even bleeding know what I am rebelling against. Who are you folk!?" The hedgehog sounded anxious and mortified as Raman sighed, looking him up and down "We'll see I suppose. Sulch, leave him with my brother. We need a replacement for our lost."

"I-I-I-" The hedgehog was handed the crossbow by Raman "I am Captain Raman Coastlord, and you are hereby conscripted into his majesty's royal army of Southward. Your service will make up for standing aside while a slaver attempted to escape on your watch, erm–" Raman motioned for a name, and the hedgehog responded "Saymon, and what? What. Huh?"

"Don't worry, we are here to liberate you from the tyranny of Salamandastron." Raman coldly spoke before marching off with Valtman. Saymon was frozen, mortified as he was pulled away to his less than loving fate, still unsure and incapable of coming to terms with what was happening.

The two divisions meandered in the village of Welderpen for a time being, resting for the night. Saymon was shocked into a new life of drilling, orders, and being lorded over by another group of soldiers as the main Southward forces temporarily set up their camps. Saymon had a lot of questions, and even when given answers he was still baffled and confused. All he knew was that he had orders to follow, things to do, and if he didn't do it, he would be declared an enemy of the army and Mossflower. He observed some things, which made him a bit concerned, remaining silent as Raman and Valtman ordered various beasts about.

Of the captives to the slavers who had been set free, their fates were outrageously estranged. As he would come to know, the slavers had sent a group of scouts forward from the far coast to make lists and gather names, tricking beasts into their camp where they would have likely been sent to disappear into slave ships bound for the western shores or into pirate holdouts. Of the woodlanders rescued, most were well off and naïve strong beasts down on their luck and found themselves being conscripted much like himself into becoming soldiers but were far more grateful for it. The vermin who were made captives were a mix of beasts who were unaware of the motives of the corsairs and were kidnapped from their homes by some collaborators. One sad tale he overheard was of a younger weasel in the group whose own mother had sold them to the corsairs for food, something which disgusted Raman and Valtman to no end. However, the group weren't exactly lucky, and were currently spending their time getting their fur cut and cleaned, and the yellow serf garments being put on them. They, along with others, would be staying in Welderpen, doing menial chores and farm work, in return for 'getting civilized' as one may call it.

Saymon wandered the camp in a bit of a depression, a pack behind him and bound in an armor that chafed him. It belonged to the previous soldier who was slain, which upset him somewhat. As he moved to find a place to set himself up for the night, he spotted a strange gathering near the center of the camp, and hearing some singing which echoed from it.

Oh hail der days so long expected, hail der day of high wind's gale

Der ship sails in storm an' gale, flag fluttering mad upon dat trusty pole

Black as night, an' white as snow, skulls an' bones does der bell toll

When dey come, dey bring fire an' blood. When dey come, dey bring the dawn!

Oh hail to dem who set on der fine shores, drunk wit freedom an' grog.

The shanty got Saymon's attention, and he meandered over to find the vermin of Raman's camp around a campfire, enjoying their momentary peace. Zardan sat with a depressed looking 'Wiffan', with the Grassweaves sitting next to each other. Rasker and his little clique were also enjoying themselves, as Raskar's voice was quite fine when it came to singing. Rasker in fact complained "Hells, der dings I'd do for even a rotting jar of old grog! I bet neder of ya had such a ding, not dat I'd expect it. Bleeding corsairs, don't even got der decency to have somethen good to drink!"

"Yer one to talk, rat." Dapan chided "I half bet dat hare be given ya all der finest food an' drink ya can muster, an ya call me 'leashed beetle'?"

"Oh, I can call ya all leashed beetles as much as I wish, at least I ain't some broken fool like yerself, weasel."

'Wiffan' sniffed, which got Dapan's attention "An ya, you really had to just come out an' make us double walk all der way to dis bleeding village. Dat cart ain't exactly easy to carry ya know. What were ya dinken, stealen from a corsair, let alone doin a song an' dance with de's folk."

'Wiffan' spoke up, trying to be calm "Well, as ya should know, I didn't know any of dat. I just thought they were some traveling circus honestly. You know, all that cloth and color. I mean, the pikes shoulda have been a hint, but like–" He paused and sighed "Well, at least I am alive. I dinks."

"Ya should be lucky I didn't speak more ill of ya." Zardan grunted, as if hinting at something. "I've been tellen ya folk fer years to tell uder beasts to kick dem western wretches whenever we finds a chance, otherwise de'll do much worse. When we leave, just keep yer head down, an' don't speak back to dem. Otherwise you'll end up like dat weasel's boy." Zardan pointed to Moran who frowned. 'Wiffan' gave the rat a weird look and asked "I'll become moody?"

"You'll get lashed."

"Oh." The fox said quite shocked.

Saymon approached the group and his coming was quickly noticed, the group becoming suddenly silent. Saymon awkwardly spoke up "Oh. Hello. You folk are normal, right?" He said in a hushed voice.

The group blinked at him, before coming to sit down near them. He frowned as Zardan quickly asked "Yer from Mossflower I takes it."

"Yes, actually nearby."

There was a relieved tone from the crowd of vermin "Oh good, cause we thought ya be one of dem real yella clad loonies."

"Oh, so we are all in agreement on that."

There was a few awkward nods from the crowd, some 'ehhhh's, and shrugs. Dapan was the first and loudest to complain "Aye, loonie an rot brained indeed, unless we all be in hell of some kind an' we just don't know it yet. Though, I'd not be surprised. Yer one of dem conscripted folk I take it?"

"Yes, name's Saymon Reez."

"I didn't ask fer yer name, spike back." Dapan grunted. It dawned on Saymon as he realized that despite their similar predicaments, these were after all still vermin. He knew a few vermin, or the 'tame' ones who weren't overtly hostile. However, he was aware of bandits and thugs who sometimes patrolled beyond the village. Dapan shook his head, engaging with him in a near hostile manner "Naturally of course, de's cretans give ya armor an' a weapon, an' better rations to boot. I bet ya never even killed a beast befer in yer entire bleeding life, an' I'm der one pulling carts an' doing der real hard work. Dats stuff fer workbeasts."

Saymon frowned, and being a little stressed, argued "Why are you vermin always like that. Just cause we work doesn't mean we like it."

Moran spoke up "Den why ya do it? If ya don't like it an' all. I mean, all dis work stinks. I feel like I'm gonna bend over an' perish!"

"I mean, you folk may not like it, but it isn't like hard work isn't meant to be easy. It's gotta be done, whether you like it or not."

"Ya, but why we'd gotta do it, is what I be sayen. Dings were a lot easier I bets when dem cats ruled dis land, wit vermin like me on top, an ya folk on der bottom." Dapan huffed "Now look where we are, slaves in all but name." Dapan wanted to rant but held back when Martha touched his paw. He looked down, sighing and sniffed. He had remind himself that speaking in such a way could get him into more trouble. Zardan spoke a bit more comforting "Well, Saymon. Hope ya like vermin tales an' song. Cause dats all we can do."

"Never heard vermin song before, what you folk sing about."

Martha shrugged "All kinda dings, spike back. Thinking of it, me favorite is Der Host's Silence. Ya know dat one, Zardan?"

"Aye."

"New to me." Raskar grunted, but Dapan scoffed "Tis an easterner's song, ya probably don't know it."

Saymon listened as Martha began and the vermin broke into song, of a tale of old which seemed oddly familiar to him, like a tale of Redwall, but one he never heard.

Der came a beast from the east.

Chased away, from horde an' shore he dismayed

Deep into the blackness, deep underground

With snowy fur, crowned in darkness and doom

Whispering from shadow an' gloom

And its name was the host.

In evil it laid, from the darkness it flayed

Waiting for the day, to return beyond rock an' vale

The host grew in power, through shadow and slaughter

Challenging an' murdering all who dared

An empire from hallowed land, it's hell would never end.

Until they finally came.

From the far east, came the warrior three

With spear an' shield, sword an' axe

They came to challenge the host.

Who couldn't help but boast.

Of armies he had, being black clad

Sent to challenge the three.

Meeting the three, the host spoke in jest

Demanding their arrest.

The warriors chided, of dreams they forespoke

Of the host's final demise

From a fox with death in his eyes.

The host gleamed with pride; of a world he would bring in stride

Of a faith he would make, for a degenerate to partake

The three had forseen of a great victory, and challenged the host

Rebuked from his tent, the host demanded they repent

And returned to prepare for the final doom

The day of battle came, great vermin hosts bore to their names

From bleak lands, were family and friends, of the three who came to defend

The host came forth, with an endless retort, and was brought to an end

Yet that was not the end

For the host survived to flee with dark flight

To where it began

Where is the host? Where had it gone?

The shadow laid across it's darkest place

Not seen beyond a land it could foresee, an' died cowering in fear

Not even of the three held dear

For the host suddenly disappeared!