Hello! This is the third installment in The Standard of Death. To my regret, Brian Jacques made the story before me. So the Redwallers, the world, Redwallers, and Redwall it's self, is his. But, the plot and the horde are mine. plz. r&r/ thanks. Enjoy!
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Whitekill was happy. In the first meeting he had already killed about 13 and made the badgers useless and tonight he was planning to take out that mouse.
"Colonel Graey"
"sirrrr?" Graey was Whitekill's twin. He always said r's long. His weapon of choice was a belt of twelve poisoned daggers. He was second in command, and a fellow assassin. He had killed another ferret that was white and used his fur to cover his mouth and made gloves. He was an expert in stealth and climbing, the perfect assassin. When ever he killed someone, he stabbed them and left the dagger there. He often ran out. In which case he used a gladius; the tools he had with him were grease a rope, and a small hooked cutting tool to cut rope. All of his tools were as white as his fur.
"Did you see the mouse?"
"Yes, I saw him. a strrrrong warrrriorrr."
"Maim him. Don't kill him. Use a non-poisoned dagger."
"sirrrrrrrr."
He was gone.
Whitekill was hungry. "You there!" he said pointing to a low level soldier. "Go to my tent. I am hungry." the soldier was never seen again.
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Jess was still not well. The temperature was too high. Sam could barely stand. Silently he made a decision. He got up, and snuck out of Redwall.
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Brother Alf and Sister Mallory were constatrating on Constance. The knives weren't poisonous, but they hit nerve, and Constance couldn't move her arms.
"Well Constance," spoke up they shy Mallory "you need to rest for a while. Don't move your arms, and it looks like you're out of the fight.
Mean while, Matthias, Winfred, Basil, and Foremole were having a council of war.
"Now this ferret is no fool, simple tactics like that won't work.
"I wonder if he was telling the truth, I mean, trainer of Cluny? That's something we should worry about.
"Well, will just need to see wot wot."
"Zhat's not 'portant, vurmin be vurmin."
Foremole's mole logic was right as always.
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Sam was hopelessly lost. He had wandered around for about 3 hours so far as his feet were getting sore. He new what he had to do. He still had the dagger from those 3 seasons before. He planned to use it.
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How's that? Is it ok? Tell me! Please r&r
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Whitekill was happy. In the first meeting he had already killed about 13 and made the badgers useless and tonight he was planning to take out that mouse.
"Colonel Graey"
"sirrrr?" Graey was Whitekill's twin. He always said r's long. His weapon of choice was a belt of twelve poisoned daggers. He was second in command, and a fellow assassin. He had killed another ferret that was white and used his fur to cover his mouth and made gloves. He was an expert in stealth and climbing, the perfect assassin. When ever he killed someone, he stabbed them and left the dagger there. He often ran out. In which case he used a gladius; the tools he had with him were grease a rope, and a small hooked cutting tool to cut rope. All of his tools were as white as his fur.
"Did you see the mouse?"
"Yes, I saw him. a strrrrong warrrriorrr."
"Maim him. Don't kill him. Use a non-poisoned dagger."
"sirrrrrrrr."
He was gone.
Whitekill was hungry. "You there!" he said pointing to a low level soldier. "Go to my tent. I am hungry." the soldier was never seen again.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Jess was still not well. The temperature was too high. Sam could barely stand. Silently he made a decision. He got up, and snuck out of Redwall.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Brother Alf and Sister Mallory were constatrating on Constance. The knives weren't poisonous, but they hit nerve, and Constance couldn't move her arms.
"Well Constance," spoke up they shy Mallory "you need to rest for a while. Don't move your arms, and it looks like you're out of the fight.
Mean while, Matthias, Winfred, Basil, and Foremole were having a council of war.
"Now this ferret is no fool, simple tactics like that won't work.
"I wonder if he was telling the truth, I mean, trainer of Cluny? That's something we should worry about.
"Well, will just need to see wot wot."
"Zhat's not 'portant, vurmin be vurmin."
Foremole's mole logic was right as always.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Sam was hopelessly lost. He had wandered around for about 3 hours so far as his feet were getting sore. He new what he had to do. He still had the dagger from those 3 seasons before. He planned to use it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
How's that? Is it ok? Tell me! Please r&r