This is the transcription of posts from ten different contestants in an offsite forum. One by one, they'll be eliminated until only the winner remains. Your vote counts! Please join us by clicking "homepage" from our user page.

Prologue (Pt. 2): Deja Vu

by Admin

"Martin loves us. Martin loves us all. Who could ever say less of him? Some of us grew up in a place where we spent our days learning of how whenever there was a threat to the Abbey, Martin would always provide for us in our hour of need. We spent our night, warm and well fed, secure in the knowledge that Martin was protecting us. Even those of us who are not from Redwall know of these stories and this security." The speaker was a squirrel, young in seasons but with a mature seriousness and an earnest charisma not often seen in beasts only shortly into their adulthood. His features were handsome, almost archetypal of his species' aesthetic standards, but there was a sadness about him, a sense of knowledge gained at a steep price.

The crowd he was addressing consisted of something over five hundred woodlanders of many different species, predominantly male but with a number of females as well. They were on the banks of the River Moss near the mouth of the river where it met the sea. Waiting in the river were boats that would take them to their newly commissioned trio of ships. They were well armed with a variety of weapons, often those characteristic of their species. Otters had javelins and slings, squirrels had bows and short swords, and the mice, shrews and few hares all had an assortment of arms. This, however, was no disorderly mob. The woodlanders were standing in orderly formations, and all wore a tunic cut from the same type and color of cloth that was used in the well known Redwall Abbey tunics. Seargeants, furthermore, had yellow bands tied around their right arms, while officers had red-dyed cords braided around their right shoulders. Flanking Marcion stood twin badger standard bearers holding flags that consisted of a green field and the device of a lightning bolt striking through a chain. This was the symbol Marcion had adopted for Felldoh's Heirs.

"Yet for all his strength and wisdom, Martin can protect us no more than we can protect ourselves. Sadly, some in my former home were too nearsighted and too cautious to look beyond the present and keep us safe from future threats. They dithered and pondered and equivocated until it was too late, and good woodlanders died for it. Good woodlanders like my brother, Marcellus, warrior of Redwall, who gave his life ending a threat that should never have been allowed to grow to the size it did. But no more shall we delay, no more shall we defer payment in blood and toil from today until tomorrow. Fate has handed us an incredibly opportunity in the form of a storm and a plague that have given us a chance to avert a vermin threat that dwarfs that of Fort Mepsira. If a fort and a town of vermin could cause us such suffering, what evil could be done by a whole island of them? Are we going to let our kits learn by suffering it for ourselves?"

A resounding "No!" went up from the crowd, most resoundingly from those who had been at Redwall during the event referenced in the speech and had chosen to leave as a result.

"We will land on Evnakt, secure the ruins of that writhing cesspool of vermin decadence, and make it into an island stronghold that can stand us a bulwark against the corsairs and wave vermin who have terrified us since the time of Luke. In times like these, we cannot hold out for heroes from abroad, it is we who must save the day. Let us become the heroes ourselves, and let all vermin learn that the name of Felldoh lives again in us. Blessings on you all, and board your ships knowing that from your sacrifice shall whole generations blossom out." Marcion, the squirrel who had forsaken Redwall for an older warrior tradition, stepped onto his personal boat to the sound of a thunderous war cry from the assembled mass.
"FEEEELLLLDDDOOOOOOHHHH!"

Some four weeks later, Jothro the shrew staggered into the makeshift infirmary set up in the ruins of what had once been a tavern, clutching a bloody, crushed muzzle. "Liddle weasel imp bwoke my nobe!" the shrew managed to get out between little jets of blood. "Why can'd we jubt kill em all now?"

His friend, a squirrel called Thistletail who had been with him helping to drag the weasel in question to the appropriate holding room leaned in. "Wot I've heard tell is that Marcion doesn't want Redwall finding out and getting their habits in a twist over him killing beasts who surrender. So he's going to put them to work cleaning up and getting the place ready for us, and then put them on a ship crewed entirely by otters. The otters will sail the ship a ways out, scuttle it, and let the deep blue sort it all out while the otters swim back. Then if anyone asks he can say it was a shipwreck."

A female mouse with a brown leaf shaped patch on her tunic came over and began to treat Jothro's nose, adding in her commentary as she did so. "It does seem a bit extreme, simply dropping them all in the ocean. I'm sure some of them could learn to be productive with proper woodlanders watching them. They've built some impressive things here, even if the purposes are a bit unsavory."

Thistletail shook his head. "Sorry, Leazom, but beasts who spend time building multistory brothels and rows of taverns and all this other mess o' stuff here are never going to be fine upstanding goodbeasts. Yes, they brought in a lot of gold, but really they were just letting other vermin be vermin for a price. Besides," he added darkly. "Are you really goiog to tell me they built all this themselves? Wouldn't surprise me one bit if they brought in a bunch of woodlander slaves to build it all up."

Leazom frowned. "But then why didn't we see any of them?"

Thistletail looked at her darkly. "Leazom, they just had a flood and a plague. Food would have been in short supply…do I really need to tell you?"

Leazom shuddered. "What an awful thought…but surely not all of them would have done something like that! Even if they're vermin, all beasts have limits."
Jothro started to add his input. "Dell dat—"

The female mouse interupted him. "Don't try to talk, you silly shrew! You'll just undo what I've been trying to do to fix your muzzle!" Turning back to Thistletail, she shook her head. "Well, I suppose I'll have to trust that Marcion knows what he's doing. He hasn't led us astray so far. Anybeast who can keep order in this kind of chaos must have a good head on his shoulders.

Thistletail nodded. "Ain't that the truth…remember how we were all gawking when we first got here? Hardly any trees, just a big mess of buildings and roads and rubble and stuff? And all the vermin hiding everywhere and the total chaos of it all? He may have a pretty face but he's no fool."

Just then, and otter wearing a sergeant's armaband walked in. "Hey, Thistletail, quit chewing the fat and get back here! We have another bunch of them coming in! You know the drill, five to a room, males and females separated, and so on. We've almost used up all the useable rooms in that big inn, so we'll have to find another one, board up the windows, and post guards like at this one. Now get back to work!"
The otter and the squirrel left the injured shrew and the healer and headed back join the rest of Felldoh's Heirs to deal with the group of ten vermin being brought in for holding.