"Last night's feast was extraordinary! Food just never stopped coming. It lasted well into the night, and even into dawn! I myself fell asleep a bit after midnight. Now it is noontime, and Skipper of the otters has something to tell us. Perhaps they are telling us the 'grave news'?"

"Gather 'round, gather 'round, my dear creatures of Loamhedge! Skipper has important news! Carry on, Skipper,"cried Abbot Reame.

"Thankee, Abbot. Las' night, we saw vermin by the Bell an' Badger rocks, Abbot Sir," said Skipper.

Abbot Reame furrowed his brow, deep in thought. "How many were there, and did they seem like they were about to attack?" he asked.

"No, Abbot sir. Our runner reported on'y seeing them relaxing and dawdling aroun', about a hundredscore of 'em. But ye can't really unnerestimate vermin, Abbot sir. They could be attackin' today, tomorrer, next week, next month, who knows?"

"Yes, dear Skipper... Who knows...?"

-Meanwhile, by the Bell and Badger Rocks-

"Oi, stop yer rabbling, yew varmints! That Loamhedge place is right ahead! Soon, we'll be rich! Scout, about 'ow far is it?" yelled Blacktongue, the Grand High Master. The black rat was the one who commanded the Deathkin tribe, all two thousand of them. He was a large specimen of his species, larger than any creature in his horde, and he could fight better than any of them, too.

A nervous, scrawny ferret, one of the Deathkin scouts who had searched the landscape, scampered towards the rat's tent. "Er, sir, we h-h-hafta cross this here's big r-r-river-y gorge, sir, G-G-Grand High Majesty, sir!" he stuttered.

"And 'ow d'you propose we cross it!" roared Blacktongue.

"Er, er, s-s-sir, I, er, er..."

"Guards! Get this worthless piece of trash out of my sight!" Blacktongue was now standing up. "And bring me Scarfang!"

The guards quickly disposed of the unfortunate ferret, and returned with Scarfang, a mid-sized, lithe weasel, another scout who had gone out earlier. Scarfang was also the High Majesty's advisor and top Captain.

"Scarfang, me mate! How are ye now!" Blacktongue sat down, and was attempting to sweet-talk the weasel.

"Me? Oh, fine, considering the... conditions you're putting me in right now..." Scarfang eyed the cutlass hanging from the lethal rat's belt. "But stop tryin' to bribe me; what d'ya want now?"

Blacktongue smirked. He reached into a belt pouch, and took out an ancient pair of binoculars. The black rat peered into it for a moment, and smiled a grim, eerie, smile. He beckoned for Scarfang to come towards him, and the weasel hesitantly obeyed.

"Ye see that there, Scarfang, me buddy?"

"Erm, yessir..."

"That there's Loamhedge. The Loamhedge! We are going to conquer that place, ye hear me?"

"Erm..."

"Ye hear me?"

"Yessir!"

"Yer a good creature matey, a good friend. Now, tell me this: How do we cross that gorge?"

"Erm, Yer Majesty, I would propose a boat? Or even a raft, which takes less time to build?"

"Oho, now we're talking! But we're not makin' a boat or a raft! Leave that to the 'fessionals! We're gonna steal one!"

Within moments, Blacktongue the Grand High Majesty of Deathkin was on his clawed feet. He bellowed, "Stir yore useless stumps, Deathkin! Time to take over that so-called happy, peaceful place they call Loamhedge!"

His announcement was met by cheers from his followers. Immediately, they started running in the direction they thought was Loamhedge, but Blacktongue stopped them with a yell.

"Stoopid beasts! Loamhedge is this way!"

The dim creatures started racing the other way. I may have the most dense tribe on earth, but they are loyal creatures, thought the black rat. And I, Blacktongue, Grand High Majesty of the Deathkin, will lead them to victory! With an evil, demonic grin, the warlord walked after his tribe.

A/N- Sorry it took so long for this to get up! I hada lot of work to do, and I um... took a day off? -smiles sweetly- Sorry! I meant for this to go up yesterday, but 'Errors' kept on popping up, if you know what I mean. Anyway, the next chapter might also be late, because of some things I must do. Thanks!