Misadventures

Order

War of the Four Banners

Redwall Short Story

To Gasger it was a ritual, he would wake up by natural means in the darkness and look up at the roof of his large tent. As an officer, he had one of the better tents set up for him, as the hare got up from his bed, cricked his back, and did a couple small exercises to warm himself up for the day. He would make sure each part of his uniform was tidy and without a single crease in it, his weapon spotless, and his whiskers perfumed. He then marched out with a purpose towards the tent barracks of the serfs.

He always paused to rub his boots into the ground, stand at attention and hold his favorite tool of drilling to his heart. Like an orderly machine, the hare would silently flip up the tent and unleash a bellow blast on the sleeping beasts inside.

BBBBUUUUUURRRRRRTTTTTTT

Gasger took great pleasure always looking at the serfs and their responses to his favorite means of training the beasts via the sound of his awakening chorus. Dapan would awake with a sudden jolt to his step and fall out of his cot, his missus would scamper to the farther end of her own bed with wide eyed fear. His youngest practically dove underneath the bed. He would look to the others, with the older Zardan covering his ears with his paws, and Raskar slowly getting up from his bed looking miserable and unamused. The hare smirked and stood at grim attention.

The serfs all got up, although for the Grassweaves they were slower than their usual pace, especially Moran who painfully arose from his cot and didn't wish to do much further till his mother came over and helped him. Gasger grunted as everyone finally stood at the end of their cots, slapping their lips to the cool morning air or yawning. Gasger growled out in his usual fashion "Pathetic excuse for a muster, I say. As proper serfs of this army, you will show your better due respect they deserve. You will put your paws behinds your backs, and your heads bowed. Failure will be very much like what happened yesterday." Gasger waited for their response, looking for an excuse. One by one, the serfs did so, all except Mia and Zadan who seemed unsure what to do at all, but they were not the ones whom Gasger was currently now approaching.

Dapan looked up when he saw Gasger approaching his eldest son. Moran looked ever frightened, slowly backing away with instinctual fear of him. Dapan rushed and put himself between the hare and the young weasel "He learned yer lesson, hare! No need fer dat." Dapan had many new fears now, as he looked up with a horrified and desperate expression to Gasger who seemed to give him a cold look. Gasger very firmly pushed the weasel father aside as he spoke with a precise speech "If your son was in any further danger, vermin, he wouldn't be in this tent but rather in the stockade where frankly you and your brood would belong if I lived in a just and simple world."

Dapan couldn't help it, his tone of voice darkened and spoke up in anger "Like as if dis place ain't a slave stockade to start wit!"

Gasger stopped and turned to Dapan, and could see the weasel father seething, held back by a very thin string. Gasger could not have thought worse of him, but he had duties. The anger and ignorant stupidity which was held back by the weakest of string he would have to mold into the firmest of chains. "Dapan, that stockade is fit for those unfit to even be in this camp, I do hope you can at least appreciate my threat by not speaking at all. You aren't a slave, you savage cretan. You are a serf, who simply hasn't learned his place yet."

Gasger came forward to Moran whose normally moody expression had now been entirely replaced with terror. He winced, clearly the pain on his back was still bothering him as Gasger would suspect. The hare spoke down to him, ordering him to sit on his cot. Moran slowly obeyed as the hare took out something special which dangled from hit belt.

Moran frowned even harder than usual when Gasger pulled out a pair of iron manacles connected by a medium length of chain which he allowed to drop to the floor of the tent. Gasger took a moment for himself before grunting to bend down and placed the shackles around Moran's feet, the cruel rattle of chain only made the weasel family ever more upset.

"Dat ain't necessary, hare!" Martha spoke up at long last, with anger now in her voice. "Tis just cruel. It'll chafe his feet, an—"

"Be silent." Gasger ordered as he finished up. He motioned Moran to stand which he did as he stared at Dapan and Martha, both of whom gave the hare furious looks. Gasger was rather hopeful they would react in a poor manner, an excuse for him to permanently rid himself of this troublesome family. Dapan held back, but he was certainly fighting it.

"These will be removed once this stupid creature learns his lesson, Dapan." Gasger explained, pointing down at the shackles "A little reminder for now to keep his filthy paws off of this division's food. Consider yourself very fortunate that I don't have you all starved for the remainder of the week."

Dapan wanted to say something, but a paw from Martha held him back. Gasger marched himself up to the foot of the tent and yelled out his orders "You will grab your rations quickly for the day, for I want to see your paws at work! Raman will not want to be delayed by a minute, as we move out from Palewind! You shirk in your duties, and the lash is what will await you." Fearful looks from the vermin between him and the others made Gasger smile a bit, for they were now taking his threats far more seriously. Once Gasger was gone, Moran stood still, looking out to the edge of the tent as others began to leave it. He was paralyzed with fright, but Martha came over and help him get moving out the tent flap and Dapan took his youngsters in paw.

"Pa, dey ain't gonna do dat to us? Right?" Zia asked in a terrified voice. Dapan nudged his youngster and spoke with an increasing hate which perhaps had frightened his youngsters more "I'll damn well make sure it don' happen to ya two."

Moran stared down at the pathetic fourth rations which were his meal, a piece of bread and some form of salad which had these weird red things in it. He sniffed it, unsure if it was just a giant berry of some kind, as he poked at it with his paw. Dapan was holding a bigger one in his paw, as the Grassweaves sat in the kitchen tent, observing their new meal. Moran licked his lips and bit into it greedily, and his eyes widened to its taste as he nearly spat it out. He gulped down the vegetable and felt the need to complain.

"Der hells even is dis. Tis der worst tasten berry I ever tasted."

Martha was a bit more appreciative of the provided food, even if their rations were halved. She ate of it and shook her head "Ain't a berry, taste weird doh. Like a lettuce head."

Dapan was silent and took a slow bite of it, and immediately began to complain "Woodlander scum." He said silently "Have der worst hearts to not even like good ol' bird. Seasons. Dings I'd do just to have a nice roast. Or hells. Even a fish."

Moran nodded "Dem apples were pretty good."

Dapan frowned and looked at his son and nudged him a bit to get his attention, but immediately regretted it when the young weasel's eyes flickered open, and he winced in pain. Dapan tried to calm the boy down with a soft pat on the back, but that only made it worse till Dapan gave up on that as he just spoke plainly "Here, eat an' fill yerself. Dey can't keep us on de's bad rations ferever." Dapan slid his meal to his eldest son who gave him a weird look. "Pa, but dat be yer meal."

"Well of course it bleeden is." Dapan growled "Clearly ya need to eat. Ya haven't been starved like dis befer, but I and yer ma have. Dey can't catch ya stealen from dem again." Dapan said, understanding him. Moran had only ever once been caught stealing before by his father, during one of the fairs when they first began selling their grog. Back then, he had praised him for such things, but now his father was chiding him "De's folk clearly be built differently den what we be used to in Mossflower. We need to tread carefully, Bigfang. Very caref—"

Before Dapan could even finish his sentence, he felt a very harsh smack across his head. He at first suspected fellow vermin, but when he turned around growling, he looked up to see Gasger standing over them. The vermin serfs who had otherwise been very talkative turned to awkwardly stare and grew a bit more silent as the hare had a happy grin on his face. He took the bowl which was shoved towards Moran and pulled it to Dapan. "Eat." He ordered.

Dapan looked up and shoved the bowl aside back towards his son "I ain't hungry, har—"

"Hungry, sir." Gasger corrected "Your new names aren't something we just call you, you will refer to that fool beast next to you are Moran. Raman's orders was the continuation of the previous punishments, so don't think I'll go soft on you for it. Try it again, and he will be eating nothing next to me for the remainder of those days."

Dapan's claws were pushing into the wood of the bench, his stare up at Gasger was full of a boiling hate for him, yet the hare seemed more amused by his continued prodding as he came over to Moran who looked like he was about to whimper. "Eat what you have, vermin. You will be continuing under Malvan's direct eye, although do trust me he will be difficult due you steal from his storage. Doubtful he will trust you ever again." Moran looked down at his meal as Dapan tried to bargain with Gasger, seeing as how his anger wasn't working against the hare's increasing cruelty "He should be worken wit me, wit his kin."

Gasger scoffed "You will do as you are told, serf. Failure to do so will only prove you are incapable of learning and thus an enemy of Mossflower and Southsward. I hope I don't need to tell you what that implies."

Dapan slumped down as Gasger awaited behind them, the Grassweaves grew silent as they ate their meal, unable to even speak to one another without the hare lording over them. Dapan stared angrily at his meal, eating it knowing his son would suffer regardless.

"I-I'm sor-sorry sir! Hold on, gib me a m-moment! I can fix it! I can fix it, I j-just need to do dis. Wait! No! I gotta—"

"Moran."

"Y-yes, sir?"

"You haven't even started yet." Malvan and Moran were in the supply tent, looking down at a large box which Malvan had ordered the young weasel to open. Moran was a lot quicker to do as Malvan commanded, although the hedgehog didn't seem to appreciate it. Since the teen arrived, shaking and wide eyed with fright, the young weasel couldn't help but fumble in his desperation. Malvan sighed, looking down at the box that he was trying to open, and when it became more difficult than usual, the weasel became overly stressed and began to practically claw at it. Moran stopped, and sadly looked down at his pointless work.

"Here." Malvan eventually said under his breath, going over to his overly neat desk and pulling out a big iron tool beneath it. Moran had never seen a crowbar, but Malvan shoved a thinner end into the wood and began to pull, a couple cracks and the box was open.

"I'm sorry." Moran began to say, but Malvan shushed him "No need for any of that, vermin. Your stomach got the better of you, that is it." Malvan looked at his list and grumbled "Twenty apples, I'll give you that, it better have been bleeding worth it, Moran."

The rumble from the weasel's stomach made the hedgehog cringe and he looked down at him "Seasons, you have the stomach of a bleeding hare, and the brain of a snail. Now please, we need all this well washed and clean before we sent it to be packed into the wagons." The box contained some odd implements covered in hay, which Moran wasn't fully aware of their use. "Crossbow repair tools and replacements, and it's been sitting in a bleeding castle storehouse no doubt since the day the Bellmaker roamed our lands. Here. Wait." Malvan turned about himself and frowned "Bah! Moran, go and grab some cloth rags from the bathing tent, it'll have to do."

The young weasel nodded and slowly went off much to Malvan's annoyance. He was about to call out to Moran to hurry up, but he had to stop himself when he saw the bent over pain on Moran's back caused him to lurch, and the rattle of chain at his legs became harder to ignore. Malvan went to do other things to fill up his time, as he really didn't want to think too hard on such things.

Moran wandered slowly moved to the bathing tent, his arms wrapped around himself as he felt very lost and beyond lonesome. His stomach rumbled but as soon as he got within the sight of the bath house, he spotted something peculiar. A fox, one of the serfs in Raman's camp was looking around before sneaking to the back of the tent and nestled between the hidden alleys of the war camp. Moran didn't take much mind of it at first until he was in the tent itself.

"Were ya followed, Blukker?"

"Nay boss, not dat I noticed."

Raskar's voice was silent and his shadow laid on the other side of the tent, as Moran looked around to see the tent empty. The shadow of Raskar slowly disappeared, but Moran was hopeful and even smiled a little. Der chief! Finally! Food! Moran licked his lips, the previous promises of being Raskar's number two made all the pain in his back worth it. As he stepped forward, the rattle of chain caught the two vermin's attention as Raskar scowled "Ya idiot! Der be a beast in der."

"I checked. Twice!?"

Before the two could do much, Moran surprised them by coming out from under the backside of the tent and quickly introduced himself, his hope shining as he weakly stood up and dusted dirt from his clothes "Boss, I—"

Raskar didn't look relieved as he took the younger weasel and shoved him further back into the tent alley, forcing him down as he covered his mouth. Raskar had seen something, his eyes darting to the road in the camp as two soldiers marched past it with halberds. He growled and forced Moran up. "Ya idiot creature, der not be many places to throw off dat hare's yoke. Did yer wretch of a fadder send ya cause I ain't der?!"

"C-chief?" Moran asked before trying to act the more confident hordebeast "S-sir, dat old bag o' bones didn't send me at all! I heard ya an' saw dis beast. Der be no one in der tent I swears." Moran continued to fumble his words as his eyes began to look to what he truly wanted. Raskar had built himself a nice stash of 'stuff', hidden behind the washing tent. The rat realized this quickly and began to partly chuckle.

"Hungry, eh?"

Moran nodded in desperation; a grin came across his face as he desperately wanted to eat again. The rat then spoke with a cruel voice, bordering on mockery.

"Den get yer own viddles, dis be me stash for me an' me growen crew. I don't need useless beasts an' layabouts leechen off me."

Moran blinked, his jaw dropped and didn't get much time to close before he was thrown to the ground. Feeling a bit safer, Raskar went to his nice little stash and pulled out an apple and began to eat it. Moran was confused and spoke up "S-sir, But. But. I'm yer hordebeast, right? Yer number two?! Ya said we'd be in dis together."

Raskar leaned on a crate nearby and couldn't help but cruelly giggle "I did. Doh, softbeasts like ya can't tell much a lie from yer own nose, eh?"

Moran frowned harder, growing ever more desperate and angrier as he slowly got up "I-I ain't no softbeast, matey!"

Raskar responded in kind, coming over as he ate an apple and then with an almost lightning speed pushed him harshly back down. It hurt a lot, especially as he landed on his back as the rat didn't seem to mind much as he circled him "Ya don't need to be woodlander scum to be a softbeast, moron. Ya served a purpose, an' ya got caught. Probably shoulda been smarter, but when it rains, it pours."

The fox smiled and shook his head "What ya wanna do wit him, chief?"

"Why kill a scapegoat?" Raskar asked casually as Moran's eyes lit up. A-are they talking about k-killing me!? Moran looked between the two, his efforts to help Raskar now felt like a twist to his stomach. He began to tear up at this terrible truth which washed over him; he was played like a darn fiddle.

"I-I'll snitch on ya!" Moran sourly scolded the rat, no longer hungry as a new anger flooded his mind, rising to his feet and ready to throw down. He had not felt this way before till now, but even once one his feet, it faded from him real fast as he regretted his words. Yet, Raskar only continued to smile and bite into his apple, reaching into his storage and tossing and apple at the fox.

"Snitch on me, eh? Speaken ill of me? Ya really dink dey'd believe ya, slavebeast?" Raskar again came forward and produced his shiv which brought close to Moran's head which caused him to go still, his eyes darting between the small knife and Raskar's emotionless eyes. "Ya even try, dey'll just lash ya again, an' all of a sudden some stupid beast named 'Moron' disappears along wit his fadder, mudder, an his little siblings as well. I've made fish bait of beasts younger den ya, an' I'll dey won't even find yer bones ya useless welp."

"I-I helped you." Tears began to roll down Moran's eyes as Rasker broke into a slow laugh. "Aye, ya did." He retracted his knife "Yet, ya don't got long fer dis world one way or der other. Yer pa will cross a line, or you, an' dey'll hang ya from the gibbets dey will. Doh, when me an' dis lad escapes from here, we might dink of taken ya wit us. Though, ya can remain in dem shackles to help us cook an' such. Though, little troubles like dis will just makes me dink yer heart not be in it."

Raskar ate the last of his apple greedily and threw the core at Moran. There wasn't enough to eat, the seeds were all that remained "Make sure ya bury it somewhere, slavebeast. If ya step out of line of me, what dat water dog did to ya will pale in comparison to what I could do to ya. Dings disappear from me little pile o' loot here, an' I'll make darn well ya perish painfully as ya crawl to the Black Forest."

Raskar stayed with his companion as Moran slowly went around the corner, his movements beyond the point of breaking. Raskar's cruel laugh and jests were heard as he collected the rags slowly as Moran slowly began to weep and had to pause to collect himself. He didn't want others to see him, but Raskar's words drilled into his head. I'm-I'm just a slavebeast. Outside or inside dis place. Why. Moran's thoughts hammered him as he made his way back to Malvan's tent.

Moran returned to Malvan's tent in broken manner, his hopes and dreams of not only escaping Palewind, but also to prove himself as the vermin he was, was dashed. Now all that remained was a hollowness an—

Well, there aren't many more words to add to Moran's misery as he strode into that tent. He couldn't help but sigh as Malvan tapped his paw to the ground and chided him "Took the scenic route, or were you just honestly lost?"

Moran frowned and silently handed over the rags to Malvan whom seemed now more annoyed how dark and lonesome his mood has become. Malvan shook his head and then paused and began to sniff the air. He began to growl as he looked to the flap of the tent. Moran sniffed as well, his face souring when he could smell something hot, juicy, and fresh. "Whoever is out there, go eat somewhere else!"

"I got a lot to eat Malvan!" Gulan's voice spoke on back as the younger weasel tensed up. Gulan came through the tent flap with a large wooden tray of various expensive designs. Moran began to immediately back away, nearly tripping over himself to be away from Raman's brother. Whatever good heart he felt towards Gulan had dissipated with the crack of that whip as he looked in fear at him. Gulan stopped as his cheery expression faded a bit. The food he had brought smelled very good, an overly buttered fish dabbed with some manner of seasoning, slices of lemon, a bowl of pasta, cheese, and shrimp off to one side, and a large quantity of fried onion, and some brown vegetable that Moran had also never seen before. All of it of course well-seasoned, and all of it accompanied by this big mug.

Malvan grunted "You officers and your bleeding meals, Gulan." Moran looked in awe at the meal, but his rumbling stomach slowly reminded him of how poor his rations had been. The young weasel felt heartbroken, but not surprised as he stared at the meal, believing it another cruel stab in the back of the otter tormenting him at the behest of his brother. Yet, Gulan set the tray on top of a box and pulled another over and did not touch it. He was looking at Moran, whom he began to notice was in a horrible mess.

"Malvan, you haven't been harsh to him have ya?" Gulan asked.

"I could be harsher had your brother not done what he did." The the hedgehog grunted and came over and smelled the meal "Remind me to put in my efforts and merits for promotion, Gulan."

"I'd wait till after the war. Raman wants all of his soldiers and officers in good spirits before we head out, which gives us the excuse to go through these supplies. Likely won't see such things again till Frankfort wins."

Malvan rolled his eyes as Moran slowly tried to go back to what he was doing, avoiding the otter's gaze. "Moran Grassweave." Gulan's voice became suddenly quite authoritative as Moran looked to him and became paralyzed. He tried to stammer out "I-I'm sorry, sir. I'm. I—"

Gulan then smiled "I order you to come here and enjoy a good meal."

Moran paused and looked at the meal, but Malvan spoke up "Gulan, I'd advise as a friend against it. For his sake and yours."

"Oh come now, Malvan." Gulan chided in a happy tune "This youngster looks miserable, starving, and on the verge of bleeding weeping. Had a noble of my stature not even bothered to ask what is wrong with a serf of Southsward, then we truly all have failed the Bellmaker."

Moran still paused, unsure of what to do. He wondered if it was some manner of trick, but Malvan still spoke up "If Gasger catches him, and you, one of us is getting a lashing and you know exactly whom he will go after first." Malvan gave a pitied look to Moran. The younger weasel was still unsure, awkwardly silent. Gulan again spoke up and gave a rather roughish impression of the hated hare "Oh you bloody serfs and your bloody ways of bothering a good ol' officer and drillmaster of the king's bleeden armies. Harumph! I will not take a single 'no' for an answer, and If you are to be proper workbeasts of our camp, you need to obey an officer's orders to the letter, which includes eating this entire meal or else I'll stomp me rudder and grumble all the way to my bleeding tent."

Malvan cringed, but he couldn't help but gave a short grunt to it "Your voice needs to be deeper, Gulan. Gotta speak like you have a spite for the very ground beneath your feet."

Moran blinked and seemed to feel a bit more comforted to see Gulan was so quick to mock that hated hare, but he still had his doubts. He edged a bit closer and eventually came over and sat awkwardly on a box and looked down as his mouth began to water from the sheer smell. Gulan then whispered "Bruxburg Cod they call it, a bit salty for my tastes. Go for it."

Moran dug in.

Gulan gave a warm smile as the younger weasel sloppily dove on the fish, practically turning it into a pile of bones in a matter of short moments before he tried to grab at the fried foods. Gulan caught his paw just in time and Moran gave him a horrified look. "You got a glutton's spirit, Moran. Though you'd probably burn your paws diving into that hot food. Try these." Gulan pointed to a silver fork as he taught the young weasel how to use the utensil. He had seen forks before, but he never had much use for it since you only ever needed a spoon for a soup, or a knife to cut into something hard. The meal all tasted good as he washed it all down with the tankard of something sweet, nearly spilling it all over himself. The younger weasel felt relieved.

Moran's stress and troubles flooded back into his mind as his sorrow and depression left, as he looked up in an awkward glare to the otter. Moran then asked "I'd thought ya would dink less of me, stealen from ya. Why ya been all kind to me?" Moran remembered how Gulan had tried to stop it, but he also remembered his failure to as well. "Ya tried to stop it, I know dat. Why'd ya stop when yer brudder did it?"

Gulan paused for a moment and nodded, although Moran felt he had crossed a line with such questions and tried to correct himself "I mean, dank ya for der viddles, I didn't mean to put it like dat. I—"

The otter held up his paw and Moran stopped as Gulan spoke with a sad tone to him "Gifts and good food don't make up for it, youngster. I'm feeding ya because starving you isn't what we are supposed to be doing. You're a serf of Southsward, not Gasger's plaything to toss around and torture simply because he has a perpetual bad day."

Moran frowned and spoke up in a weak tone "I dun' wanna be a serf. I just wanna go home."

"With what you been through, I cannot blame you." Gulan spoke. Malvan pulled up a box and sat down next them as Gulan further explained "I know my brother well. I know once he sets his mind to something, he won't turn from it. Back home we may be nobility, but here my brother is a captain, and I am the officer who keeps his soldiers in check. Your pa at least had the bravery to say something."

Moran began to grow angry, a spite in his voice as he spoke out "Den why didn't he stop it!" Moran could at least say something freely about his father, although he also regretted it as well. He just wanted to know why his tragedy wasn't stopped, why he had to suffer over a few apples. Malvan explained "Your father had the sense to not press Raman further, youngster."

"I ain't no youngster." Moran folded his paws and began to grumble. To this, Gulan couldn't help but smile "Ah, there's the real beast coming back out." Moran stopped folding his paws and looked to Gulan, and asked again "Why der kindness. Didn't I steal from ya both?"

"Those apples?" Malvan asked "Tis just food, Moran. Now, I am furious that you'd steal from me, because it looks bad on my bleeding career having one of our serfs steal from this army and eat that many apples. We got them as gifts from the villages we liberated, youngster. Had I caught you, I'd have whacked you and driven you out of my tent and had you doing triple the work to make up for it. You'd likely have been tirelessly cleaning and loading boxes under my strict orders and watch till that lesson was learned." Malvan's voices shifted a bit, tapping his paws on the box they used as a table. "However, knowing that Gasger was starving you, I am less peeved. He always did have a giant thorn in his paw. Nail even. Big stinken nail. This army uses the lash for serious offenses for soldiers, but you aren't a soldier. You're not even a laborer. More like an over glorified prisoner. You should have never had to gone through that, especially with your age."

Moran looked to Gulan for answers "Den why'd he do it?"

"I have a feeling as to why." Gulan said in a cringed tone, although Malvan growled out "For the reason why you're bombarded with threats from that hare. Tis by design."

Moran blinked as Malvan explained "When we came out of der village of Marshreed, we got a true number of vermin prisoners with us. Most surrendered after what they did in the village, but we gained a lot of younger beasts, elders, and common folk who didn't get involved in any of the fighting. Frankfort wanted advice on what to do with vermin folk. Our resident philosopher and historian suggested keeping you folk on as serfs, to civilize you and try to make you into proper beasts. 'Vermin can only be kept tame through acts of violence and cruelty' was his wording on all that."

"Wells. To be honest, spik—" Moran caught himself "Hedgehog. It certainly be worken."

"I know, but it shouldn't be like that at all." Gulan said with a spite "Our land, or very system, is about order. It's all a contract our ancestors made to make a better place, as the Bellmaker envisioned."

"Ya don't treat yer slavebeasts like how ya treat us here?" Moran said a bit confused. Malvan quickly corrected him "We are Southswarders, not corsairs! You are a serf, not a slave."

Gulan tried to explain "Moran, a serf is a laborer, but as the Bellmaker had all the nobles and leaders of Southsward make oaths and forge contracts when he built our many institutions. Serfs are bound by blood to their lands, live in service to their nobles, but we as nobles are bound to care for them, work to bring them comforts, keep them safe from bandits. To guide them both through the grace of the seasons and cherish the hard work they do. Yet, serfs also must work long and hard hours, uncaring for the whims and machinations of nobles and merchants. If Gasger wasn't so miserable, he should have been teaching you how to enjoy the work you do, not making you regret every moment in this bleeding camp."

Moran didn't know what to say in response as Gulan got up and got his tray. He gave a confident smile "Well. As they say. Trust the system. I'll bring another meal tomorrow till you are offer that cruel diet."

Malvan gave a stern warning to him "If we get caught—"

"If he gets caught, you can just say I forced him to eat. With excessive cruelty of forcing him to have an officer's meal, I being the villain of such a tale. I must be off before Gasger takes notice, and he will."

Moran's mood partly brightened a bit, but as soon as the otter left, he began to feel a bit sad. He realized something. Dat Otter ain't gonna help me get outta of dis place. Maken me a softbeast like dat back stabben rat said. Oh I won't—

Moran's thoughts were cut off by a quick grab of his shoulder as Malvan put him back to work "Filled up? Good. Now start cleaning, before we fall behind." Moran moodily groaned, which gave the hedgehog a rare smile. Well. At least this poor beast be returning to normal.

Raman Coastlord sat comfortably at his desk, the book Histories and Cultural Studies of Vermin Volume Three laid across his desk, another extensive tome by Shackleford. The otter flipped a page as he blindly reached for his goblet of a weak wine which he sipped as he read through the passages with increasing interest.

'Vermin are a strange species which have long been theorized to be so low in intelligence that the concepts we are more used to such as knitting, iron work, and basic sanitation is as foreign to them as it is foreign for woodlanders to learn to fly from birds. Therefore, vermin do not wear things of their own make, but steal or take from the bodies of woodlanders, often passed down till a new generation must set out to regather their own fresh set of stolen things. The vermin lack imagination in any regard, only able to imitate what was made rather than build of their own accord. It is then very curious as to how vermin can have any form of logistics such as under Kluny of Scor'age are able to host massive hordes? Where were the Long Patrol when Redwall needed such aid? It can only be guessed at as to how vermin acquire such things in such high numbers, a prospect I wish to delve more into in future studies. . ."

Raman nodded and closed the book, thinking on the words he read. His thoughts came back to the Grassweaves, how well dressed they looked. He wondered if it was Dapan's father or some other means they got those stolen clothes. He shook his head and wrote down in his journal.

'Vermin, according to our resident scholar of them—"

Raman sighed and crossed it out, beginning once again.

'Vermin ARE incapable of logistics in any meaningful capacity. Being far from imaginative, they must rely on outside means and scavenging to gain even an acceptable amount of food, clothing, camping supplies, weapons, ammunition, and armor. Of note on such things; locate the suppliers and eliminate them through smaller teams, identify the suppliers (?), surround and starve out vermin holdouts with precision.'

Raman left the ink to dry in his journal as he got up. He was somewhat relieved. Considering all the pains and tribulations just getting his own stuff packed up, he wondered how the vermin could even accomplish themselves as a real threat. All the stories from Cluny the Scourge to the Rapscallions, to the endless threats of pirate emperors and lords, it all seemed strange they could ever hold themselves together for even a single season. Let alone a month. Then again, to Raman, it made sense. Tales of mere children, wielding swords and showing bravery, puts supposed warriors to flight.

Raman left his tent and clasped his paws behind his back, marching out to check on something rather vital. Where the vermin may have had issues with their logistics, he would not. Raman marched out to where he needed to go; where Gasger was yelling at the vermin serfs learning how to load a cart.

"Dapan! That isn't bleeding how you load a cart, you incompetent! I want to see them lined up and have enough room to be tied down and properly tarped! Stop slacking off, or the lash will be for each and every single one of you!"

Raman didn't seem to mind as he appeared next to Gasger, overseeing the packing of the carts. He frowned as he beheld the progress thus far. It was clear most had only just discovered the meaning of the word 'organized' as the group fumbled about loading boxes, pausing to load them, and not bothering to tie them down, put tarps over them, or at least tried to hurry about in a confused manner. Raman shook his head at such a display.

"Gasger. Line them up." Raman ordered. Gasger nodded and yelled out "All of you line up! Hop to it, serfs!"

Raman watched as the group lined up in a slow manner, looking a bit fearful at him. He looked around and realized something "Gasger. Where is Rasan and Blucan?"

Gasger explained "Those who had to make use of our latrines, sir. They'll be back shortly."

Dapan and Zardan stood next to each other, although while Zardan looked like he could sweat up a storm, and the two other vermin next to Dapan awkwardly shifted and kept their eyes away from Raman, it was Dapan's whose hateful eye fell on the otter. Raman's cold stare fell on Dapan and the otter approach. The weasel was chided by Gasger who mockingly reminded him "Do at least take a servile stance, vermin, as I told you this morning. Paws behind your backs, face down."

Dapan resisted and angrily growled back, his eyes not leaving the otter's. "Yer gonna have to force me on dat one. Arms be tired." Dapan was in fact tired, but he wasn't going to give the two woodlanders the satisfaction they desired of him. Raman stopped in front of him as he looked over the weasel's work and gave a loud sigh.

"I can forgive ignorance to a degree. Not laziness." Raman spoke as he went over to the cart Dapan was working on. The boxes and supplies were haphazardly put in at first, but Gasger had been chiding him harshly to fix his mistakes. "Gasger, this won't do. These supplies will be scattering the road by the time we even get moving. Valtman doesn't like waiting, and neither do I."

"I thought It prudent I get to know what they were doing wrong, sir." Gasger explained "Teaching them via example. Though, perhaps if I had a few soldiers to keep better watch over this lot, things would be a bit less difficult."

Raman shook his head "Perhaps, but this is something they'll have to learn if we are to be out in the country."

Dapan was confused as the two spoke to one another, their words weren't insults but they weren't in a friendly tone either. They complained like as if he wasn't there or didn't even understand them. Zardan and the others seemed to know what was going on, and kept quiet, but Dapan would have none of it.

"I ain't a bleeden child, I've put stuff into bleeding carts before!" Dapan grunted "If ya remember dat cart ya dumped over, otter."

Raman and Gasger turned to Dapan as Gasger suggested to his superior "Perhaps a lash or two will get this one to at least be silent when it is good for him, hmm?" Dapan's anger was boiling over as he could see the smirk in Gasger's face being held back only by a slim amount. Yet, Raman spoke up to Dapan in his own harsh but cold speech "That won't be necessary Gasger. Dapan, this mess is unacceptable by even low standards, and I can't even trust one of you to even load up our supplies properly. My original laborers would have halfway done by now, but you folk haven't even started. We leave soonish, and we begin packing up tents tomorrow."

Raman came closer, getting up to Dapan's face, the otter's eyes becoming twitched with his own anger. Dapan didn't back down up until he listened to what Raman had to say "Do not think all this tolerance was because I have any sympathy for you or your bandit family, Dapan. Dakker. Or whatever you want to call yourself. You can either do the work I set to you properly like a goodbeast, or continue to try my patience like the child you are."

Dapan only spoke out one word, wanting to argue with the otter "Tolerance—"

"Yes! Tolerance." Raman said quickly "Must I remind you of this as well? It is by my honor and word that I tolerate you, but even I have my limits. You were promised as to being obedient and tame in some capacity, like every single vermin here. You have not proven that to me one bit. You are rude, lazy, and incompetent in nearly every way I can conceive."

Dapan grew silent, his paws curling into a fist without him knowing it. The otter then commanded him about "I don't intend to earn your respect as I had with previous laborers, since you miserable creatures seem to only know violence and fear. You will obey our commands, and you will redo this mess and do it correctly, even if I must have you baby sat by the soldiers. I won't be delayed by you especially. Now say 'Yes, sir' and turn back to your duties."

Dapan gritted his teeth and turned around, grumbling, and angrily pulling out things from the cart in about the way one would suspect. He didn't seem to know, nor care, that the others were watching him. Gasger grunted angrily and approached, intent on giving to him what had been done to his son. Yet, a paw was shot up by Raman as he silently spoke to his officer.

"Leave it be, Gasger. He'll learn for his own sake. He at least did as ordered." Raman looked at Dapan as the other returned to their work, the weasel tempted to smash things onto the ground, but knew he was being watched. Raman wasn't sure if he had just been talking to a brick wall, but he lifted his chin and went about his own duties, content that all was well in the world, and his position respect.