A Recipe to Die For

by streeflo

A fox steals a treasure, and a wandering warrior travels to Brickwall. Poking fun at Redwall, this is a story of parodies and cliches. Read and review please! Rating could be K, but playing it safe.

Wynn Chen a.k.a.
Silver Linings
or
Streeflo

DISCLAIMER: I own all characters in this. I based this story off the setting in Redwall, which Brian Jacques owns.

NOTES: I actually turned this in as a short story for my English class. I wrote most of this myself, parodying off Redwall and the ROC. I also "borrowed" some ideas from Zeltan (near the back) and Rael (the first ten paragraphs), modifying as to fit my story. Here ya' go, please read and review as this is my first submission. Hope you enjoy it

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His Rise and Fall: An Ode to the Fox

Sunlight spilled through the single barred window of the small chamber, falling over the stone floor like a golden liquid toppled from a great glass high above. Dust motes swirled like little clouds through the room's dim lighting, thriving in their element. Tapestries of old hung on the wall, depicting dragons, warriors, and battles victorious; all fading from the exposure to light.

In the middle of the room a tiny, three legged table of oak sat, edged using a fine metal and carved with an intricate pattern. It sat there in all its glory, seeming to be the only thing not layered in dust. The rim caught rays and reflected them brightly, tossing a little patch of light onto one of the cloth pictures depicting a humongous rat commanding a great vermin horde. Atop the table was the true treasure though... a maple chest gleaming brightly, it's border layered with gold.
The silence was broken suddenly as the heavy door to the room clicked and squealed open on its hinges. The slim, shadowy body of a fox slipped through and half closed the door behind him, leaving it just enough open that he could get back out. He coughed slightly, muffling the sound under his paw. The air was thick as flies on a summer's picnic, and it was hard to breathe.

The beast was a fine reddish-orange color, with a snow white belly and black paws. His eyes were quick and small, never seeming to stay in one place. He was carrying a brown knapsack, and crept with the grace of a skilled professional.

The fox's eyes wandered around the room with awe for a moment, admiring the fine work of masters long gone. However, his eyes did not linger long. There was not much time to be lost, and he spied what he was looking for. He crept slowly towards the chest; and was overly careful not to make a sound. The fox stopped twice to look around for traps, but spied none visible.

After many a long moment, he finally reached the chest in the center of the circular room. He reached out to snatch it, but stopped himself. He had waited too long for this moment to ruin it in a careless blunder. Months and months of planning and plotting. And all of it was about to be rewarded. Being overly cautious once more, he scanned the table for any signs of foul play or trickery but once more, found none.

Gently, the fox scooped the chest into his arms. He had to be very careful with the chest, else risk breaking the great treasure inside. He recalled back at camp when the commanders were looking for a qualified beast for this mission. The camp was filled with skilled creatures, but the commanders were looking for only three essential qualities— to have a quick thinking mind, to be excellent at stealth, and to be excessively paranoid. This particular fox had been the perfect beast for the job.

It was time to get out of there. He walked slowly back to the door. Unfortunately, just then the sound of shuffling feet came from the other side of the wall. The fox groaned inwardly. Perfect, just perfect. He placed the chest back on the table and quickly rushed behind the door and slid into the shadows.

The fox was afraid this would have happened. The guard must have seen the door ajar and come in to investigate. However, there was no other way. The door was locked in a way so that it could only be opened from the outside. Closing the door would mean locking himself in the room until he starved or dehydrated.

The door creaked open again. A weasel in chain armor carrying a short spear stepped in and looked around the room. She spotted the chest still on its place on the table, and seemed satisfied. She was about to turn to leave when something caught his eye. The weasel had just seen the explicitly clear paw prints of a fox on the settled dust.

The fox wasn't unduly worried. Of course he had known all along it was a real possibility that a guard could have come in with the door ajar, and had planned ahead for this situation. There was nothing the weasel could do now…

Quietly, he pulled out a knife. Foxes traditionally weren't warriors, and he was no exception; but desperate times called for desperate measures. He slid behind the weasel quietly as she bent down to inspect the tracks, closing the door to provide room to maneuver. He took the knife by its blade and raised it above his head. The weasel saw the shadow on the ground in front of her. Turning around quickly, she only had time to gasp, "What in the…" before the fox smashed the hilt of the knife into her skull.

Thunk!

The fox dragged the unconscious weasel to the side, and removed her of all valuable possessions. He wiped his sweaty brow. That was one close call, and he didn't wish to chance another. He quickly moved to the table again and grabbed the chest, this time rushed and roughly. The fox had only half-turned around when he realized the fatal error in his otherwise flawless plan. When the weasel bent down, she was close to the open door. In order to provide room to attack her, the fox had closed the door--- he had closed a door that only opened from the outside.

The fox swore at his own stupidity. He was trapped. There was no way out now. All he could do now was wait for another guard to come in. He could then disarm the unsuspecting victim and go out the open door. Unfortunately, he knew the chances of this happening anytime soon were slim. The door was perfectly closed, and there would be no cause for suspicion. He was trapped. There was no way out.

Except… there was a way out. The fox looked up again, focusing on the single window, the sunlight still streaming out of it like a waterfall. It was perched high, but not unreachable. The fox smiled for the first time in weeks. He had found his lucky break….

Hours later, a group of guards opened the door to the room cautiously. A female weasel hadn't reported in at the end of her shift, and they were looking for her along with signs of foul play. What met their eyes shocked each and every one of them. The first thing they noticed was the absence of the chest on the table. The second was the absence of the table itself. There were clear fox tracks in the dust, and they saw the crippled form of their fellow guard to the side. Then they saw the table, directly below the window. There were also dust prints on the surface. Pieces of the rusted bars of the window lay on the ground nearby, cleanly sliced off with a blade.

And the window --- the window's bars had a circle cut in the middle. The hole wasn't big. In fact, it was just the right size for a fox carrying a chest to fit through.

The sun was halfway down the horizon, and the last tinge of daylight was disappearing into the night. The crickets had begun the introduction to their nightly concerto, and there were few birds flying in the sky. At Brickwall, a young, slim otter lay sprawled on the wall of the ramparts, fast asleep. Lanin, a humongous buff otter, was sitting behind the heavy oak gates. He wasn't really the guard, but he did the job every day anyway. The real guard was above him, and asleep. Lanin had been chewing on a piece of grass for quite some time, but now boredom had finally overcome him.

"SAAANINNN!" the otter hollered, his voice easily overwriting the chirping crickets. A family of pigeons took off in fright. "Let's eat now. I'm hungry."

Most beasts would have awoken with a start, but not Sanin. He merely opened one and flicked a pebble down below, smiling at the satisfactory sound of his older brother exclaiming in pain. He muttered darkly, "Shaddup brute, go eat if ye' want to. I'm restin', leave me'lone."

Lanin, already forgetting the pebble incident, smiled happily and said, "'Kay bro, I'll see ye' thare!" and skipped off to the kitchens.

Sanin turned over and laid on his back as he looked up at the sky. It was beautiful actually, but so long had he taken it for granted. For a few minutes, all that could be heard was the distant babbling of dinner in the Great Hall. Sanin signed heavily. If he didn't move now, he would have to nick food from the kitchens for supper. A waste of his time really; there were so much more important things to do--- such as being a smart-aleck, teasing Lanin, making daisy chains, and just annoying every beast he came across.

Sanin stood up and took a good stretch. He absent-mindedly adjusted his bright red bandana and picked up his staff that was learning against the wall. The otter was about to set off to the kitchens when he remembered the gates. Sighing again, he called out, "Hey, guards. Guards? GUARDS!"

There was a sound of footsteps, and he peered down onto the Abbey grounds almost 10 feet below. Two young mice came scurrying over, tripping over one another in their haste. "So sorry sir, we were just..."

"Yea I'd love to find out you two lazy meatbags were doing, but honestly, I don't care. It's your turn at duty, and you indolent fools had better stay here this time. None of that pathetic fib 'bout how you were coughing a fit up heres. Ye' know I'm smarter than that. Neither of ye' filthy hypochondriacs are sick today and I knows of it. Now get ye'self some backbone else I'll get Lanin to whip some shape inta'ye. Got it?"

They nodded silently, and positioned themselves on the walls looking very attentive. Sanin chuckled to himself. He was probably lazier than those two put together, but they wouldn't know that. Once, the two mice had left in the middle of duty to attend dinner. Unfortunately, Sanin had noticed their absence when he took a stroll along the grounds. He knew the second he was out of sight, the two mice would sit down and either doze off or chomp on snacks while gossiping away at which mousemaid looked the prettiest that day. Well, no harm in that. It's not like there was a fox sneaking into a heavily guarded castle to steal a wooden chest containing a treasure, almost getting caught but escaping by the hairs on the back of his neck. Everything was perfectly fine. Now it was time for the more important matter at hand, namely dinner.

Sanin didn't bother with such trivial things as steps. He took his staff with his right hand, grasped the wall with his left, and with one fluid motion leapt over the stones and into the darkness without a sound.

One of the mice turned around to ask a question. "Sir, I was just wondering, if the night passes peacefully can we--... what the? Where'd he go?"

His companion plopped to the floor and took out a bag of food and some marbles. "Who in Brickwall cares? C'mon, I'll play you for the candied chestnuts."

And the night passed peacefully.

The next day however, a ragged weary mouse came half-crawling along the main path to Brickwall Abbey. He carried a sword in a sheath strapped across his belt. Also strapped on was a flask of water and a sack containing a variety of simple vittles he had scavenged on his journey here.

The mouse's name was Mirtan. Although he was young, his eyes were glazed as those that have seen much more than a creature could bear sanely. A closer inspection revealed deep scars and cuts all around his body, and the fur around his paw was blackened and bare.

Mirtan collapsed and lay still, too tired to move any further. Looking up, he spied a conveniently located sign on a tree. It read, "Brickwall Abbey. Half Day's Journey Ahead." Suddenly all his energy gushed back to him, as overwhelming as the spray that comes out of a juicy orange. Or a juicy grapefruit, whichever you prefer.

Mirtan stood up, and yelled, "Yes! May Martin the Warrior bless this conveniently located sign! I, Mirtan the Warrior, am nearly at the end of my quest. My seasons of journeying have finally come to an end. Me and my friend have waited long for this moment, and although he did not live to tell the tale, I shall continue on with..."

He was cut short as a finely dressed fox dropped out of a tree right into the middle of the path. A long moment passed between them. Mirtan only gaped, unable to finish his dramatic soliloquy.

"Dear sir," said the fox pleasantly, with a disarming grin on his face. "I believe it is properly spoken as 'My friend and I'. Anyway good fellow, I am looking for a golden fox of sorts. We have been hired by an anonymous source to seek him out and bring back his bright, sunshine tail as a trophy. Have you seen him about?"

Mirtan regained his composure and boomed out, "I have not seen him but I am sorry fox! You may have corrected me, but I am a sworn enemy to vermin. I will be justice across the land! Now accept my apologies as you meet your doom!" He charged forward, but he fox was too quick. He sidestepped, and pulled out a saber of his own, swinging at Mirtan's head, letting out a great cry of triumph as he did.

Unfortunately, the fox missed and was ran through.

Mirtan shouted victoriously and danced around the corpse of his fallen victim.

A gang of two score vermin marched up the path, singing heartily. Catching sight of the fox on the path and the mouse dancing around gleefully, they stopped dead.

A rat wailed, "The mousey killed poor Gentlefox! What did he ever do to you?"

"Murder! Unaccounted murder! Kill'im!"

Mirtan merely laughed openly at them. "Hahaha! You will never get me. I laugh openly at you. Vermin scum. I can easily destroy you, but I will leave you your lives. Now I shall be off on my journey to Brickwall Abbey which is full of fine food and other good things. You will never catch me!"

Mirtan had ran two paw lengths before 2 arrow shafts pierced his torso.

The vermin stood around uncomfortably, not knowing what to do with their leader dead. A ferret decided to take control. "Hey you guys! Let's go take over Brickwall. Look at that conveniently placed sign! It's only half a day's march away. And the mouse told us it was full of treasure!"

"No he didn't. He said it had fine food and other good things. Besides we're supposed to find a fox."

The ferret stuck him with a throwing knife. "No one dares argue the great, er-...Lord of, uhh... Vermin. Barney Henderson the Extremely Wicked! And we'll find'im after we do bad stuff to Brickwall under my name. Now let us be swift like the wind!"

And they marched off at a snail's pace, and much to the disgruntlement of Barney, still singing heartily.

And the night passed peacefully.

A dark patch of shadow hovered over the arrow filled Mirtan the Warrior. It shifted about slowly at first, tilting from side to side inquisitively as dark eyes puzzled over the poor creature. Slowly, the shadow grew larger until it enveloped the nearly fallen beast's entire torso. The traveler that was now resting on his haunches, crouched over the recently perforated mouse, a grim expression on his face. He could smell something like death in the air.
His curious gaze led him further up and down the path where two vermin lay dead. He lifted a brow and turned his attention back to Mirtan.

"To think that this mouse could take on two vermin by himself? No ordinary traveler it seems... Hmph. It seems like there were more."

There were some imprints left in the soft soil nearby. There seemed to have been a scuffle... And a pair of prints traced down to where the mouse now was.

"So he ran. Not fast enough obviously. Wonder how long he's been here…?"

He glanced at the two arrow shafts jutting out of the body. A quick analysis didn't confirm that they have struck vital areas of the body. Even so, given time any wound could kill a beast.

The traveler didn't feel like touching the creature, didn't seem right to poke the dead. Luckily, there were twigs scattered around the path. He snatched up one that was nearby and proceeded to prod the motionless body.

"Hey. Still alive?"

Mirtan felt a poke. It wasn't pleasant, and he waved a hand to shoo the feeling away. He muttered, "Lemme go, go'way."

He then remembered what had happened. The vermin had shot him. The nerve of them! He would wreak his revenge soon enough.

But those idiots hadn't bothered to check if he was dead or not. Oh no, he was way too clever for the vermin scum. Under his tunic was some plate mail that had weakened the impact of the arrows.

But then someone was poking him. And it was uncomfortable. Mirtan decided he was too tired to do anything about it, and feigned death, hoping the intruder would go away soon. He lay still, all the time congratulating about what a great plan he had thought of. Of course, Mirtan had forgot he had already given away that he was alive by the muttering. But in his head he kept telling himself that he was brilliant. First he would play dead. Then he would go and wreak his revenge on the vermin. He would smite them with his great sword of... wait a second. Where was his weapon?

Mirtan jumped up and gave a wail of despair. The scum had stolen his sword

The traveler was a bit taken aback by the sudden 'resurrection' of the mouse.

"Whoa there, looks like you're alive after all..." He furrowed his brow and pat Mirtan on the back, "But you know, you still have arrows sticking outta ya... Just sayin' is all." He shrugged nonchalantly and laughed at the mouse.

"By the by... Who might you be anyways, stranger? You aren't any normal traveler that's for sure..." He glanced at the two vermin bodies laying on the ground, "Care to explain those as well?"

He straightened back up and quickly brushed off the dust that was flung up by the living (and not dead yet) mouse.

Mirtan burst into speech at this new visitor.

"I am Mirtan the Warrior! I came from the North to seek a place called Brickwall Abbey this conveniently located sign told me was half a day's journey away. I shall go there and talk to the abbess and let it become my home. I have traveled great and long on a great journey with many friends long dead. However, I, being so strong and a warrior, have survived this tale to the very last. Now it shall end!"

Mirtan leapt great leaps forward along the path, still speaking dramatically while removing his heavy armor.

"Come fair traveler, and you may accompany me to this Brickwall where they have fine food and other good things. I shall now shed my armor, for it is restricting my movement along my fine and muscular paws. Then afterwards I shall wreak my revenge along those vermin. It was a fateful day that they chose to trouble me, Mirtan the Warrior! What comes around goes around. I shall-..."

Unbeknownst to Mirtan the Warrior, the ferret Barney wasn't a great warlord after all. Within minutes, the gang had rebelled and civil war erupted. Only about ten beasts were still alive. They were trying to start a fire and get some well-deserved rest. Three stoats and two rats heard his yelling, and peered onto the path. They didn't see the traveler, but there was the mouse again! Shouting and shouting and creating a great noise. The vermin couldn't sleep with that kind of interruption, so they lifted their bows and took aim. This time he would fall for good. Unfortunately, one of them accidentally let slip a shaft too early, and it landed two yards from Mirtan's foot.

"Yeeagh! Who's there! How dare they interrupt my dramatic monologue about the story of my life. Come out and show yourselves, and I will fight you like a true warrior. Even without the aid of my sword, my bravery, chivalry, and great courage will allow me to defeat you all single-pawed and…"

He was cut short as four arrow shafts pierced his torso again. This time, he wasn't wearing any armor. And there ended the tragic life of Mirtan the Warrior.

The fox looked at the corpse of Mirtan, arrow shafts sticking out of him like a porcupine. Surely this Mirtan must be dead this time. After all, he was wearing no armor. Tough luck for the poor Northern mouse. He lived a good life anyway.

What was bothering the fox most of all was the body of the other fox that was run through earlier along the path. The leader of the horde was dead. Now that he thought about it, the logical killer would be the mouse. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that he died after all. The fox leader was good and kind, which was unheard of in those parts.

He glanced back at the wooden chest in his arms. It wasn't the fox that gave him the dangerous mission, but the fox's trusted captain. Would he be still alive?

He crept cautiously along, careful to stay clear of the path. It was a good choice, because he soon ran across the vermin camp.

The fox gasped. Littered everywhere were bodies of weasels, ferrets, stoats, and rats. Blood had been shed, and only ten survivors were alive to tell the tale. He checked them. There were three stoats, four rats, two ferrets and a fox. The fox! That was who sent him on the great mission. It was good that he was still alive.

The fox walked into the camp slowly and surely, hoping none of his fellow vermin would be dumb enough to shoot him, mistaking him as a foe.

There was no mercy in a vermin camp.

Some of the beasts looked up at him briefly as he passed, but spoke no words and their gaze did not linger long. The fox chose not to return any glares or stare, and made his way quickly towards the center tent.

The fox in the center was second in command when the leader was still alive. He was a ferocious looking creature. Scars ran along the course of his arms and body. He had a patch over his left eye and half his left ear was gone. The fox carried two menacing scimitars sheathed on a belt and wore an elegant black cloak. His snarl was threatening enough to send any beast shivering to their mother. This fox had lived through countless battles by his wits and skills alone. He was a veteran warrior, and a survivor.

The fox's name was Cookie.

Cookie looked around to see if anybeast was eavesdropping on their conversation. Then he bent his head low and whispered, "Do you have it? The chest?"

The young fox nodded, and took out a wooden chest with gold borders from within his cloak. Cookie smiled wickedly, fangs protruding. "Excellent…. You have done well my young fox. You have done very well."

The young fox bowed his head and replied, "Thank you my lord. However, I am wishing to know what lies inside the chest. What great treasure is in there that is so valuable? Under your instructions I did not dare peek into the chest, but curiosity is eating me away. I wish to know!"

The older fox smiled again. "As you should be wondering. Yet, I shall show you! Come closer and you will look upon a secret that only a privileged few get to set their eyes upon. Behold!"

With a great dramatic (and unnecessary) whisk of his cloak, Cookie unlatched the chest and lifted it open. The young fox was bubbling in excitement. He peered inside and saw…

A piece of parchment.

"What in the-… master! I have failed you. The castle guards have set a trap for us. I have brought you the wrong chest."

"No my young fox, you are much too humble. A beast as capable as yourself will not fail as easily. You have indeed brought me what I have sought for many long years."

"But master, what is it?"

"Alas young fox, do your senses deceive you? What does it look like?"

The fox picked it up and skimmed over the writing. "Is this… a recipe?"

"Indeed yes, young'un. All these years I have been brewing ale, and yet, there was one recipe that I could never get right. Ai… the secret recipe of the Octobug clan. They were the legendary ale brewers. Their work was highly prized throughout the land. Through much hard work and testing, I had managed to work out most of their secret formula. But there was one secret ingredient I just could not piece together. And now! Now, thanks to you young fox, I can and I will make the best ale in all of the land!"

The young fox just stared at him, his mouth open in shock. He spoke slowly, pronouncing with words with effort. "You mean to tell me, I spent three months studying the castle and finding loopholes in security. I risked my life breaking through the guard and stealing the chest. And I had to travel so many miles back here just for--- for this, this piece of… piece of parchment?"

Cookie cocked his head and looked at the fox inquisitively. "Uh, yea?"

"GYAGGGHHHH!" screeched the fox. He had lost control. It was unbelievable. It just wasn't happening.

Cookie seemed to ignore his scream, and pored over the parchment again. "Aha! Their secret ingredient was the bark of an ash tree! And all this time I was using oak. I see they also chose to add in the flower petals before the herbs. This is quite excellent. My dream is almost coming to its final stage. Soon, it shall be realized. Soon, I shall become the Number One Ale Brewer in…"

He was cut short as his life ended. The young fox had taken out his knife for the third time, and slit it between the ribs of Cookie. And with one fell swoop, his dreams and life came crashing down into a heap on the ground.

The rest of the beasts looked up and saw the fox walk out of camp, taking the parchment with him. Then they put their heads back down and resumed their pathetic attempts to start a fire.

There was no mercy in a vermin camp.

And the night passed peacefully.

Lanin was out making daisy chains in the fields in front of the Abbey, when a fox strode up the path. The otter took one look at the fox and with lightning quick motions, grabbed his spear and knocked the fox down with the butt.

Sanin was napping on the ramparts again when he heard the dull thunk and the scream of pain. He peeked over the wall out into the fields and saw what was happening. "What are you doing Lanin? Stop!" He leapt over the battlements and dived gracefully into a pool of water on the other side. After a moment, the otter surfaced and swam to shore, muttering darkly the entire time.

"What in tarnation are you doing Lanin? You never attack a beast even if they are vermin, unless they assault you first. Now help him up."

"Aww… sorry Sanin. But can't he stand up himself? He ain't hurt so bad."

"Look brute, it's common courtesy to help someone up when you knock them down. And we're decent people. Well I am anyway. But that's besides the point."

Lanin pulled the fox to his feet. Sanin asked, "What is your business here fox?"

The fox replied, "I am a deserter of a vermin band back in the woods. I wish to live at your Abbey, Brickwall I believe. And to pay for your hospitality ahead of time, here is a secret recipe to the Ale of the Octobug clan."

Sanin inspected the parchment in awe. "Wow, I'm not even going to ask how you got this. However, the cook will be very pleased with this indeed. Very pleased."

Lanin was confused. "Hey Sanin, aren't you the cook?"

"Shut up brute, and lead this gentlebeast inside. Tell the Abbess we have a new friend… and here. Drop this parchment off at the kitchens."

Lanin and the fox made their way toward the open front gate, chatting amiably like old friends. Sanin didn't follow--- for he didn't bother with such trivial things as gates. He took an elegant leap into the river and dived in without a splash. Swimming deep underground, he appeared on the other side of the wall in the Abbey pond. Smiling to himself, he then walked toward the direction of the kitchens to meet up with the fox as he dropped off the parchment. He was the cook, and he sure as heck was pleased.

The two mice on duty stood straight at attention, looking very fine. The real reason was that they were just at the bad end of Sanin's tirade. They looked at the two otters below talking with a fox, and a parchment was passed around. One mouse yawned, and glanced at the other. "How much longer 'til shifts over pal?"

"Dude, will you shaddup for just a little while? It'll be over when it's over!"

"Fine whatever, no need to yell about it." Looking back down, the fox and Lanin were walking through the open gate under them; but Sanin was nowhere in sight!

"What the-… Sanin disappeared again! How does he keep doing this!"

His companion plopped down on the ground and pulled out a bag of food and marbles. "Who in lovely Brickwall cares? It's blessing he's gone; sit'down mate, 'tis a hot day. C'mon, I'll play you for the dandelion cordial."