Roughtail sauntered into the treeline, steadily making his way inland, leaving the beach and vast ocean behind him. He didn't have a clue where he was headed, but he was certainly happy to be on land. It was, in fact, his goal to find a new crew or horde to join, assuming his last had either died in the same storm or sailed off without him. Taking a seat against the trunk of a tree, the rat began cleaning the sea salt off his crossbow. Pulling out a pocket knife, he chipped away at some of the crusted salt which had hardened in the nooks and crannies of his weapon. The drawstring would no doubt need replacing, as would the stock which had more rot embedded in it than half of the Bloodyscab. What really worried the searat was the release mechanism, which had a fair amount of rust throughout its metal work. Testing it, he found that it was still functional, but not without a fair bit of effort in pulling the release lever. Opening up his quiver, he counted upwards of ten or so bolts, and if he found a new horde to travel with, he could probably get more or even some spare parts for his weapon.
Standing up and shouldering his crossbow, Roughtail resumed his trek inland, to no where in particular. He was alone, and being alone meant being vulnerable.
It felt like forever since his broken form had washed up on the wet sand. He had just about given up at that point, saluted Vulpez, and reflected over his life. That's when he had seen land. He'd thought he must've been hallucinating and in fact he had assumed so, until he was able to sink his paws into the wet sand beneath him. He'd been so happy then, the moment he realized that he wasn't dead. Now, after trekking for all but an eternity, he could only think of water, fresh cold water and maybe even some vittles.
What is that? The sounds of a camp bustling with activity reaching his ears was sweeter than a candied chestnut. It was an unmistakable sound, the sound of vermin bellowing out in laughter, the clanking of armor and weapons. A horde. The rat could hardly believe his luck! He increased his pace. The sun hung low in the horizon, peeking over one last time before going under, casting long shadows across the forest landscape. A lone figure making their way slowly towards the sounds, their shadow sweeping across the landscape as they went, could be seen from the view of a bird. He was sure he should have found them by now, but the sounds of the camp remained at a distance. Before long it would be dark and Roughtail grew weary of the forest around him, levelling his crossbow at every snap of a branch or caw of a bird Of course, a well maintained vermin horde encampment would likely have patrols around the perimeter. All Roughtail needed to do was get close enough and let them find him. Soon He told himself, soon.
"Coz we're vermin! Vermin, vermin, vermin!" Lackfoot was singing to himself as he hobbled on uneven footing through the forest outside the camp. A large sack was slung across his back, filled to the brim with odd bits and bobs Harlapple had ordered him to deliver to Ace Murderbird. "Bill'll get demoted! An' I'll be promoted!"
Roughtail abruptly stopped when he heard the singing. Well I'll be damned he thought. Guess I found 'em first. He took a spot behind a tree where he could watch the oblivious vermin, waiting for him to walk past his position. At which point Roughtail stood slowly and leveled his weapon at the stoat's back, "Hold it right there matey. One wrong move an' I'll end ya."
"An' then I'll get double rations, twice the vittles an' a cushier-" Lackfoot stopped mid-verse at the new voice. The stoat stiffened suddenly, his ears swivelling in panic. Oh gawd, it's that darn 'ellsquirrel again, ain't it? I'm 'bout ter be zuchinied...
"Turn 'round - Slowly an' toss me yur weapons smart-like." Roughtail snarled.
Lackfoot did as he was bid, awkwardly stumbling as he did so. "Er- haven't got anythink sharp on me. O-only real weapon's well, me peg-leg." He raised his wooden leg to show the menacing rat, nearly falling on his rump as he did so.
No weapons? "What kinda vermin doesn't 'ave anythin' sharp on 'im?" The sea-rat said with a chuckle and a shake of his head. He lowered his crossbow and approached the one legged stoat. "So whats an unarmed stoat with on leg doin' out 'ere alone in the forest eh?"
"W-well I don't really do... fightin' an' all that. I-I just carry the boss's stuffs." Lackfoot swallowed apprehensively, eyeing the rat with worry. "A-a'm not really alone anyhow. Horde's not far. Touch me, I scream. A-an' they'll come runnin'." The stoat nodded vigorously. "Anyhow I'm off te feed the Murderbird, so if ye'll excuuuse me..." The stoat began to turn away slowly.
"Ah-ah-ah, Not so fast matey." Roughtail was smiling mischievously. "A horde ya say?" He stepped closer, advertising his yellow teeth and Seaweed grog breath. "Ya wouldn't mind pointin' me in the direction of this horde now would ya?"
Mama Apple'll have te have a word with 'im... Lackfoot cringed away from the searat's rank appearance. "Well if yew just wait there I kin show ye te the camp on the way back."
"Ya ain't goin' anywhere ifin I ain't with ya." Roughtail snapped, shouldering his crossbow and brandishing a knife. I'll be damned if I let me ticket int' this new horde slip between my fingers. "Take me t' this camp ya got or I'll string yew up by yur guts. Where e'er yur off t' can wait."
"I-I think yer mistaken," Lackfoot swallowed, his eyes fixed on the knife. "L-look I'd take ye with me b-but the murderbird don't wait for anybeast an' he don't like strangers!" The stoat took a cautious step backwards. "An' 'e'll do far worse te me then string me by the guts iffen I'm late."
"Do ya take me fer an addlebrain? There ain't nothin' worse than hangin by yur own guts!" He shivered at the memories. "Who e're this murder-bird is will 'ave t' wait, b-b'cause I ain't sittin' 'ere in the middle of the forest. It's 'bouta be dark!" There was a shakiness to his voice which he quickly made to cover up.
"I don't see 'ow ye'd know a thing about hangin' from yer guts seein's as theys all still in ye!" Lackfoot sneered, turning on his heel. "An' there's worse. Like gettin' yer leg chomped off. So sit tight an' be patient. I'll be back soon!"
"Yah, but I've seen many a beast who've befell that fate! I'd rather get me leg cut off than hang by me guts any day of the week!" Roughtail was shuffling nervously, "A-anyway, how can I trust ya t' come back? Fer all I know yew'll jus' leave me 'ere with me pants down and let me either freeze t' death or get eaten by a snake!"
"Freeze te death?" Lackfoot shook his head in disbelief. "It ain't midwinter mucker. An' the only thing that'll eat yew is Ace an' 'e'll only do that iffen the boss asks him ter. There ain't no snakes in des parts. As fer trust..." it was here that Lackfoot was stumped. After a while he shrugged. "We're vermin mate, can't trust us anyways. See ya in a bit!" And once again picking up the tune of Vermin, vermin, vermin, Lackfoot stumbled deeper into the forest.
"I coulda killed yew!" He shouted at the retreating stoat. "Can't freeze t' death my foot paw!" He grumbled to himself, kicking a stone in frustration. "Aaooow! Vulpez damn yew!" He howled at the rock before falling onto his rump and sucking on his big toe.
Lackfoot breathed a sigh of relief as the cries of pain caught up to him. 'Opefully 'e's crippled 'imself now. That'll serve 'im right... The stoat quickened his pace, hobbling past gnarled roots and pretty flowers.
Roughtail paced back and forth, biting his nails as a nervous tension gripped the rat. He began to shiver involuntarily, but not from any chill. Had he been in the presence of other beasts he'd have made to cover up his signs of nervousness, the trembling, the biting of his claws. There was no one there, however, and soon darkness crept over him, the last of the shadows disappearing in a sea of black.
His hearing became hyper-vigilant and his eyes were wide open even though he could see hardly anything other than the darkness which now accompanied him. He ain't comin' back. He left me fer dead. Of course he did, I woulda left me fer dead. Roughtail buried his snout in his paws. "Shoulda stuffed that peg leg down 'is throat!" He growled to himself. The rat had two options. Stay or leave. He didn't much like the idea of stumbling around in the dark. So instead the sea-rat crouched down and waited, sitting as still as possible, hoping to become one with the darkness. If he was still, no one would see him. In the morning, if the stoat hadn't come back, he would resume his search. He began to doze off, snapping his head up when ever he caught it lolling to one side or another. Sleep would be the death of him and he knew it, but it was so tempting. Letting out a yawn, Roughtail leaned against the trunk of a tree and continued his waiting.
It was dark by the time Lackfoot came bobbing back along the beaten track, reeking of bird, with a few stray feathers still clinging to his fur and dusty white paws, his mood considerably more sour than it had been earlier. "Why is I the one who's gots ter prepare the hawk?" he grumbled, carefully stepping over a stray root. He had, in the time between, forgotten entirely about the rat that had accosted him.
He snapped his head up for what felt like the twentieth time. Was it a rustle in the trees or a perceived snap? He had no idea. The rat resumed his dozed state once more when, once again, his senses were jolted. He looked in the direction of the sound and rose to his feet slowly, "Ay! That yew matey?" his voice was a raised whisper. He gripped his crossbow tightly as he scanned the darkened landscape, his heart pounding threw his chest.
Taken by surprise Lackfoot shot into the air, his fur spiking upwards. The stoat landed badly, lost his balance and promptly landed on his rump. "Oi, what're yew scarin' me for!" he scowled, remembering the ruffian. He stopped scowling as soon as he remembered the knife. "Course it's me. Said I'd be back, didn' I?"
Roughtail couldn't help a sigh of relief. "Well what took ya so long!" He held his voice to a whisper, though he wasn't sure as to why, "I've been waitin' 'ere fer seasons. Git back on yur useless leg an show me t' this camp o' yurs!"
"I'd rather not talk about it." Lackfoot shivered, trying very hard to get to his footpaw and regain his balance. "Easy there mate, I'll take ye te the camp like we agreed." His peg-leg slipped, and the stoat's face became intimate with the ground. "...Couldja help a mucker out?"
With another sigh to expunge his nervousness and heightened adrenaline, Roughtail shouldered his crossbow and stumbled over to the grounded stoat, nearly tripping over a root as he went, "I'll nay're git how yew land lubbers handle all this bumpy earth an' creepy forest nonsense." He reached out a paw and hoisted his new mate up to his one leg. "There ya go matey! Now... after yew," He gestured for the stoat to lead the way.
"'Snot far from 'ere," Lackfoot gestured for the rat to follow. "Landlubber, eh? I takes it yer one of 'em searats then."
"Aye! Starved an' whipped!" He stated proudly. "So what's yur name anyway?" Roughtail asked as he was making his way after the stoat, taking special care to watch his footing.
"Lackfoot," said Lackfoot, a little bit embarassed as he pointed at his peg leg.
"Ahh, I see. Ah fittin' name, I'll say." The rat stopped to take a breather, "Roughtail's me name, ya wouldn't 'appen t' 'ave any grog on ya Lacky?"
"Grog? This far inland?" Lackfoot shook his head. "Nah, most of the alchohol we has is fur special occasions. Or's medikel."
"Well whadaya drink then matey?" Roughtail asked indignantly as he resumed his trek behind the stoat. "Vulpez spare me, I hope it ain't water! Gimme a lake or river with some seaweed in it an' I'll show ya land lubbers a good grog!" He shouted out in merriment, though his dry throat made it sound more like a raspy wheeze than a laugh.
"Mama Apple wouldn' approve," Lackfoot shook his head from side to side. He jabbed a thumbclaw into his rapidly-inflating chest. "I've bin sober for three weeks now!"
"Sober?" Roughtail stifled a chuckle, "What's life without a wee buzz eh?" Mama Apple… that name was... familiar, Though he couldn't quite place it. It left a sort of sour taste in his mouth. He cleared his throat awkwardly, "So… who be t-this uh... Mama-Apple? This the cap'n or somethin'?"
"Naaaah, I mean- she's de real boss an' all, but de boss is actually 'er son. They ain't... well... we ain't yer usual 'orde I serpose, but we're tryin' te conquer Redwall now." He grinned, and gave the rat a pair of thumbclaws-up. "Iss goin' fantashtic!"
"Oh, I bet," Roughtail said sardonically, "Explains why yur camped out in the middle ah the forest an' not inside the damned place." He'd heard stories of the haunted halls of Redwall, most vermin had, Though it was never a target on his captain's radar as it was far too inland to even consider attacking. Many a vermin had tried and failed to take Redwall. He didn't expect this to be any different, though it didn't particularly matter. As long as there were other vermin in the camp and vittles a-plenty, he'd be a happy rat. And grog. Can't forget the grog. "Some leader, he mus' be." He added with a tad of sarcasm.
Lackfoot gave him a look. "So we do things a lil' diffrently. So what? 'E's a great leader! An' I can say that even as 'is scapegoat! Even when 'e an' 'is bird-brained son are directly responsible for me missin' leg. De boss did us all a big favour, ye know? Life up in the Northlands is harsh. Winters are cold, there ain't much food an' for every bite ter eat there is there's three things willin' te bite us fur it." The stoat shook his head. "Oh, an' 'e saved me life once, so there's that."
"Ya wanna medal fer loyalty?" Roughtail sneered, "if he's at all like the horde leaders I've known, he doesn't give a hoot 'bout ya. An' if there's one thing I've learned it's that loyalty gets yew killed... So what's so special 'bout him anyway?"
"Well fur one thin'" Lackfoot huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "'E's a mouse! An' fur annuver, 'e knows all our names! So there!"
"He's a mouse!?" Roughtail didn't even try to contain his laughter. "An' 'ere I thought I was joinin' a proper horde! Lemme guess, he's havin' ya throw tarts at the woodlanders as well!" He erupted into a fit of coughs in his merriment.
Lackfoot was unamused. "So what iff 'e's a mouse? Mouses are jus' small rats anyways. An' no. We eat tarts!" The stoat scowled. "Yew best lower yer voice- boss can get reeeeal mad sometimes."
Roughtail quietened down at the stoat's implicit threat, quickly covering up a look of worry. "Eh, what warlord doesn't get mad sometimes... Kinda part ah the job." he finished with a chuckle. "An' by the way, I take personal offense t' yur comparin' me kind t' the likes of a mouse." What kinda mouse becomes a warlord? As funny as it was to the rat, he couldn't help but wonder who they were and how they came into such a position. He only knew one woodlander with the stomach for such a role. He gulped.
"Be offended all yew like," Lackfoot snapped. "'Snot my problem. The truth kin hurt, love. Best put yer armour on."
"I could beat any mouse in ah fight easy. An' if yur not careful yew'll be wishin' ya had armor on," Roughtail shot back. "How much further we got Lacky?"
"Iss just round this tree. An' I'd like te see yew try an' take on our boss! Just the other day 'e took on an army of white squirrels armed wiv nothin' but a zuchini." Lackfoot glared at the rat. "Gonna laugh then?"
The rat only raised an eyebrow at the stoat, "zuchini eh?" He shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't decide whether Lackfoot was pulling his tail or being dead serious. "What e'er. I don't plan on killin' the beast who's runnin' this whole show. Who e'er it is has my sword as long as they feed me, mouse or not." The sounds of the bustling camp were now very close and he could see some torch light through the forest thicks.
Lackfoot scoffed. "Yew couldn't even if yew wanted too." He jabbed the rat hard in the chest. "Keep yer head down an' do as yer told an ye'll get yer share. But I hear any more stupid talk from yew I'll feed yew t' the hawk."
Roughtail sported a wide grin, "Aye Aye, Cap'n!" He said jokingly.
Lackfoot shook his head. The pair had arrived at the camp. "Well, let's get yew settled in then. Welcome Roughtail, te the Rotten Fruit!"
"Aight, so what're the terms? What do I gotta do an' what do I git fer doin' it?" He looked around at the tents and vermin moving about, doing various tasks or simply chatting with one another. If this was going to be his home for the foreseeable future, he had best get accustomed to the place. "Do I git a tent, some new weaponry, or hell even a coat with some stripes on it?"
"Yew do as de boss says an' yew get yer rations fur doin' it. Aye, we've got a spare tent an' some old armour an' weapons and whatnot." Lackfoot looked the rat dead in the eye. "But clothes are all taken I'm afraid."
"Shame," Roughtail siad biting his lip. "I'll deal with me tent an' weapons later. Where can a laddie get some vittles? I'm just 'bout ready t' eat me own shoes."
"Well should be about time fur dinner anyhow," Lackfoot shrugged, brushing bird feathers off his person. "Mind yew don't sit next te Wrackfur. 'e's not exactly good at sharin',"
A weasel walked up to them and did a mock bow, "An' who might this sea swab be?" He asked Lackfoot. "The names Roughtail," The rat extended a paw to the weasel, "Lacky 'ere tells me its almost time fer vittles!"
Wrackfur gripped the paw with his own and stared into the rat's eyes. "Naow, don't eat tae much. Some of us earn our food. Tha's why we don't like sharin'. Not like the boss cares, anyhow."
About don' eat too much, yew eat more than anybeast, thought Lackfoot, but he didn't say it. "This is Wrackfur, de beast I woz tellin' yew about."
Well Wrackfur… Yew'll be pleased t' know that I drink far more than I eat!" Roughtail bellowed out in merriment, giving the weasel a hearty pat on the back. "So! Where be these fabled vittles?"
"Th' large tent o'er there to the right," Wrackfur answered, pointing left. "Follow yer nose, uhh... Roughtail. Yew can't miss it!" Jerking a thumb back, he added, "Naow Ah've got guard duty, but I 'spect some o' that soup t'be left!" With that, he smirked and left the tent.
"I should go report te de boss," Lackfoot muttered. "See ya around Roughtail."
"Ay! afor ya go Lacky…" Roughtail pulled out his knife and flipped it so the hilt was facing the stoat. "Ah vermin without a weapon's like a fish without fins. Take it."
"Oh, sh-shucks matey!" Lackfoot flushed pink. "I dunno wot ter say! Thanks!" He snatched the knife and gave it a test jab. "This'll come in handy. Dem abbeybeasts don' stand a chance now!"
Roughtail waved a paw in dismissal, "I'll find me a better one at the armory or where e'er ya got yur weapons." "An' speekin' of the boss… Who is he? Ya know, so I can address 'im right. Don't wanna be fumblin' fer words if I stumble int' 'im."
Lackfoot chuckled. "Jus' kiss 'is lil' mouse feet an' ye'll be fine. Thanks fur this," he waved the knife around. "But I gotta talk ter the boss. Harlapple ain't big on patience."
Roughtail nearly spit the last of his seaweed grog onto the ground, erupting into a fit of coughing as the alcohol stung his throat. "H-Ha-Harlapple?" He couldn't believe it. Mama Apple… Of course! That's how I knew that name. She's his mother… and he's the horde leader. The rat's face was the picture of horror as he came to the realization, anxiously looking around for the signs of a mouse. Last time he saw Harl, they were kits. Of course, he didn't exactly treat the mouse nicely... not by a long shot. Clearing his throat, Roughtail regained some of his composer, "Heh, heh, He certainly sounds like ah stickler fer rules!" he forced out a nervous chuckle.
"That 'e is!" Lackfoot chuckled, giving the rat a final wave as he departed.
Turning, Roughtail made towards the cooks tent, the sweet smells of soup and spice filling his nostrils. He still couldn't believe what he'd heard. Maybe I miss-heard him? It was a lie, and he knew it. A lie to help him cope with the fact that Harlapple, the mouse from his past, was back. There was no mistaking that name. Harlapple had built an empire, and Roughtail had just stumbled into it.