A/N: These reviews... piled up... Guess that's what I get for leaving this story for a month hehehehe...pleasedon'tkillme... response time!
Keldor: Yeah, I imagine Snap only knows the story in passing- he lives a long way away from Redwall and comes from a rather different culture. The Veil story is likely one he knows vaguely but details are definetly lacking. I imagine he is at least smart enough to not bring up 'that one evil ferret' while apologizing to someone XD
Honestly not sure how sympathetic the bats ended up being- or how sympathetic I wanted them to be. They're not evil, and they help the good guys but they can be a nuisance XD Let's hope these Veil thoughts don't torment Fret all the way to Redwall... hehehehehe...
Hmm... Fret the bee... I wonder.. do beavers keep beas...
Hehehe- I looked up several videos and I think squealing fits like a glove. I also agree that ferrets and subtlety do not go paw-in-paw. This information shall prove useful indeed when we return to poor Fret. Muahahahahaha!
Who knows, Slimegut might even change his name to Scarnose! (and transform into a hamster or something), might also hold a grudge against certain types of vermin after this hehehe...
Remnants: Thank you for the compliments. I put a lot of effort on the characters... sometimes to the detriment of er- nasty things like 'plot' and 'pacing'- who needs those, amiright?
Original story hmmmm... well yes, but also no? I'm not entirely sure what I'd write about. Publishing novels can be challenging- there are a lot of things that I do 'wrong' (ie you wouldn't find in most published books) but also enjoy doing- like headhopping or er- spending an entire chapter (and indeed naming a chapter!) Banana Filling? I don't think I have what it takes to write original fiction on a professional level- even if yes most of my writings is 'original'. (That's not to dismiss your kind words mind, I'm flattered!)
Hmmm... I will do some sifting/searching to check but I'm pretty sure the one with a bent tail- famous for a bent tail- is Rowland. Ie Constance's husband (who sadly passed... in a most gruesome fashion). He's also technically Greyclaw's dad. Like Marik his role is mostly post-mortem unless I do a prequel...
And here lies the greatest irony. You may hug the little guy- and indeed, many would- but alas Fret does not like hugs XD
AlexFalTalon: Snap could have, buuut the slap to the face isn't as hard as it being Bartok makes it. It puts Fret into his mood (and it gives this author joy to snatch away any elation you might have XD)
I love that line 'you have 100 pounds of happiness' XD For the record I feel no harm in saying that they will be going to Butch's place.
Yes and no. The pirates chapters will be scattered around the Northlands rebellion chapters.
Abrahem: What makes the Fret/Veil parralel so interesting is that... well... ending up like Veil is a rational fear. Such behaviour is justified against the toads- but someone else? Then he'd be a villain! He'd be Veil! Fret frets a lot and this is just the latest thing for him to worry about. It upsets him greatly because it neatly summarizes all of his issues.
Yeah, once again, not sure where to put Snap. He's not *that* bad but... he can be buggy XD
Hmm... how far will Fret go... weeeeell I feel no harm in saying that the poll on my profile is er- 10/2 on Fret ends up nicer. What that means is up to you but... Fret doesn't have the stomach to flay somebeast alive. The reason the length of that timeskip was important is because short timeskip means Whimper is still mostly Fret, a longer timeskip... different character. So... different version...
Yes alright! Well, one dark scene was a er- rather gruesome fate for the toads. It didn't exactly fit in but I could make it a horror drabble... The other was well... you'll see when it happens since it's rather important.
Not sure to be honest XD There's Bonfire Night buuuut I've never lit a firework for it (although... Shakespeare was clearly Guy Fawkes and the whole thing was just a ploy to make Macbeth- released with suspicious timing a short time later... and instant hit!) XD Switzerland and the Balkan regions... er- not really. Not that I know of. I mostly stay at home and sit on my laptop anyways. I live under a rock as well. To some extent anyways.
We have vampiric squash though, that's pretty fun.
Kayaking! Never tried XD You had fun I assume? Or did you er- repeatedly fall in the water XD?
What happened to Longtongue, eh? I have a few ideas... And we may even see what happened to him. Perhaps in story, perhaps in drabble. Depends.
Also, yes Threeclaw the dibbun=voice of Jerry's nephew, I imagine him as kinda high-pitched anyways hehehe
A monkey's fist is not a bad idea. Mariel of Redwall had something similar in Mariel of Redwall- I'm pretty sure it was a knotted rope but I haven't read that one so I'm not sure. I also think a monkey's fist fits him better than a ball and a chain... Frankly poor Fret doesn't have the physique to lift such a weapon.
Waycaster: The story gets darker from here eh? Hmm... I do think the pirates arc will be slightly less whimsical if you will- so yes darker in a sense- but we haven't reached true darkness quite yet, at least for the other arcs and characters.
Berserker: Oh yes, Fret's in a very complicated position when it comes to the whole specism debate... I shan't say more for there are spoilers inbound...
Hmm (Quite the pen-name ye got there ;): Yes I can see what you mean about negative coincidence and the feeling of... contrrivedness? I think I can put some of that down to not knowing where I wanted to take the story. For example the whole extended prologue with the Skipper and otter trips feels perhaps a little unecessary at this point in the story, because it doesn't serve much of a purpose beyond introducing some of the characters.
I think the negative coincidence thing hasn't exactly stopped mind- Fret just *has* to go down the snake tunnel and Bartok just happens to flap into *Fret* of all things, etc etc and I suppose I could use a bit more set up for things like that... Er- any ideas how?
Sebias: Hmm... we may yet see some of the toads... Warthog was en-route to Longclaw's when the rest of the Yellowbellies were punished so you could call him a Karma Houdini... or you could say going to Longclaw's is a far worse fate hehehe
Awww, so nice to hear that even in your old age you'll still remember poor old Fret... hopefully we'll know what happens to him by then, eh?
Guest: The author is flattered. Thank you
TactiturnWatcher:
Abrahem (again): Yeah... a lot of crazy things happen in the forum, and member or not we will drag you into it (read, down with us) hehehehe, the link is always available if you do ever decide to join Discord (I don't want you to feel obligated to do so, do as you wish)
Ah yes, I'm rather proud of Slimegut and Longtongue... froggies weren't as hard as I thought they'd be.
Yeah beaver society will be mostly me- the only reason I say mostly is because there was one beaver in Redwall that went by 'the solitary beaver'. Jacques said they only appeared in Redwall and he didn't include them in other books because they were extinct in Britain at the time... fun fact, beavers are no longer extinct in Britain which means it's time to bring them back into Redwall... or at least my version of Redwall...
Ah see, the joke was my readers would assume it was a family album. It's not. Thorneflame, Fret, Klis, Marik, Slit are technically a family- as in mostly related, mind you Klis and Thornflame aren't related to Slit-eye. Meanwhile Choptail and Scringewhiskers are thrown in because... it's a ferret photoshoot! Come one come all! Alas I had no space for Ripple Sharkbreath... or Swallowtail...
I don't know the word for Thornflame' pirate outfit... er maybe a... *has no clue*
Yes, in hindsight Klis isn't very muscular, is he? Hmmm... I do like the drawing mind but I'll try and make some more of him- with more burliness. Although burliness in general is something I find hard to draw. Still, I can try!
*Punches table* Hmmm... I mean I can still use the other song somewhere right? Long story left... (I find it hilarious in hindsight that Snakeskin was singing a rock song).
And as a final note, Tactiturn is both very clever and male- the emphasis is because it took me about two weeks to find out XD
Tactiturn Watcher: Damn... you don't kid around when you review, do you? I... like... how do I respond to all of this? There aren't any questions here and... wow... you've hit most things on the nose. I think my progress here is especially easy to see because of how long the fic is- I am nearly at the two year old mark- Fret is about to be a toddler- and therefore you can see a development in writing style- helps as well that when I started this is also when my writing went through a bit of an overhaul (when I started reworking older fics).
I mean... I guess there is some Ho Yay here? I mean... it's not something I'm trying to do... but I guess my writing comes off that way?
Finally, I decided you were right. The last chapter felt like an ending and both because of the tonal shift of the Pirates/Northlands arc (and this gap in updates) I've decided that Book III begins here and now. What this means? Er nothing much really. Book III is gonna be super long and I might even split it into two (so that would mean four books...) depending on how long certain things take me to write/develop, but I'm not cutting anything out. So... win win? If any of you have got any better ideas for a title I'd like to hear them.
Corkindrill: I've already responded to you via PMs, but when you do get all caught up this is the standard form of response. Thanks for the insight/critique/reviews!
I feel like I broke a rule here where the author's note is almost as long as the chapter... In other words short chapter this time around, mostly build-up, but plenty of interesting things to explore here in the Northlands... Without further ado...
Book III: Blood And Secrets
"What were you thinking?" Groaned one Jon Connington. Deep in the bowels of Chillgrave, the filthy little mouse sat up against an empty barrel.
The one-eyed hare pacing before him harrumphed with a note of great displeasure. "Well you didn't leave me a bally choice. It was either ally with the vermin or rot in an underused pothole of a cellar listening to your bally drunken singing!"
The small rodent groaned again. He was not sure what was worse, the sharp emptiness of his stomach or the pair of bells ringing in his skull. It was probably the throbbing headache come to think of it. Or the stiffness of his joints, the soreness of his tail, the weakness of his paws... It was a miracle he was alive, or so the elderly marten had said.
"Yer friend is an idjit an' lucky te be alive."
Connington had not liked being called an idiot, but he'd been too hungover to truly retort. By the time his mind had pieced together a suitable comeback Sick-Eyes had shoved a vile and foul-tasting potion down his throat. He'd been too busy coughing and spluttering to verbally duel, after that.
The alchohol had been sealed up, and now the only thing he drunk was whatever the vermin put into her 'medicine'.
"My singing... can't have been that... bally bad..." The mouse groaned a third time. All he did was groan, or rather, all he said came out as a groan. It was likely the medicine's fault.
"It was abominable." Said One-Eye Fleetfoot, as blunt as a hammer.
Connington coughed weakly and stopped trying to argue. He'd failed everybeast in every possible manner. He was not even strong enough to drink himself to death. Pathetic... pathetic... pathetic...
And with those dreary thoughts he slipped into an uneasy sleep.
The hare continued to pace in silence for some time before his companion's soft snoring interrupted his thoughts. Muttering foul words unsuitable for the ears of a cadet, the grizzled old Long Patrol Captain stomped over and with as much gentleness as his impatience could muster, dragged the rodent into a more comfortable position.
Pity made it's presence known to him, as it always did. The mouse had volunteered so many weeks ago, to help find the children. He'd been determined then, and made of strong stuff. Something had happened to him on the pirate ship. Connington had not been the same after that. He'd been weak, and not just from nearly drowning. Hiding in the wine cellars had been a necessity- it was the least-visited part of a castle- but it had allowed the mouse to drown himself over and over again in liquid courage.
And I was too weak to stop him... To be fair, Captain Fleetfoot had been under extreme stress. They were leagues away from home in the heart of enemy territory and unable to find a single one of the children. His only companion had suddenly lost all hope and any determination. The current situation was still stressful of course. The wolverine king was not a beast he'd like to face in battle, and no amount of kitchen slaves could hope to overthrow the garrison. It was getting harder and harder to deal with the newly-promoted vermin- most of whom were on the cautious side knowing what had befallen their predecessors, and with the newfound watchfulness of the castle at large it was more difficult than ever to get word and supplies to the 'dead' slaves working on the boats.
A ridiculously large galley had been selected as their method of escape. It was the only ship that could possibly fit them all, that was true, but it was old and in sore need of repairs. The sail had been replaced overnight a week before, and oars had been taken from the other ships. The last the slave rebellion had heard, a new rudder was being built.
In and of itself that was not hard to do, but the quantity they were dealing with made things difficult. When the rudder was ready and fitted, Sick-Eyes would lead the kitchen slaves and supplies onto the boats after sun down, it was up to One-Eye to get the mining slaves on board before morning. The pine marten was very clear on the fact that they would leave without him if they had to.
"The wolverine king'll want our heads. We ain't stickin' aroun' if yer late so make sure yer on board on time with anybeast ye wanna take with ye."
Connington wheezed weakly, and turned in his sleep. Something had happened to him on the pirate ship... and One-Eye had his suspicions. The ferret was here after all, and was not a slave. Connington had probably encountered his 'beloved nephew', and seeing what he was had broken him.
According to Silvertongue, "He's some pampered, prissy little princeling. Watched me paw get flayed an' everythin' the ungrateful runt! Ye know it's his fault too! Nobeast would've touched me if he didn't act all frightened."
If all that was true, and the weasel's paw was proof alone, then the ferret was beyond hope.
The hare was not sure how he felt about that. He had had very few interactions with the kit, none of them particularly memorable or pleasant, so perhaps it had been inevitable. Many had said so... yet Connington had (in imitation of his elder sister most likely) stubbornly refused to listen. Even when they had found the molemaid.
Captain Fleetfoot shook his head free of the ferret. Whatever he was now made no difference. He was no longer in the castle, Silvertongue had informed him.
"Left with all his pirate pals." The weasel snorted with contempt. "Funny, ain't it, how quickly he changes mates?"
And therefore he was... for the time being at least... of no concern.
Shaking his head free of the vermin youth, the hare once more made sure Connington would not be going anywhere before making his way towards the heart of their little rebellion. The kitchens.
"Yer late hare!" Sick-Eyes growled at the sight of him. The elderly marten pointed a claw at a small group of miniature weasels. "Yew! Flitchaye! Get this beast inter costume sharpish! Flayface is gonna be late te work at this rate an' the las' thin' we need is a suspicious highness stompin' into our kitchens!"
Perhaps it was age that made her so snappy. Although being the ringleader of an undercover rebellion/escape mission was bound to make anybeast 'snappy', after all they were the ones that would suffer the most if it all went south.
Getting into costume was a familiar pain now. The fox tail was wound and tied firmly around his comparatively tiny one, his ears pulled and flattened against his back. The skull went on. The mask went on. The fancy tunic went on. The belt with the whip went on. And after only a few moments Flayface the Slavemaster was standing where One-Eye Fleetfoot had once been.
"I assume the mouse delayed you." Came the sullen voice of Deathglare. The pine marten looked healthier than ever before- but that was hardly saying much. Before he'd been a slave and the victim of horrendous torture. Neither of those were likely to look healthy. The swelling around his eye had vanished though, only to be replaced by long bags of darkened flesh.
"He gets nightmares of waking up in a barrel." Sickletail told him, matter-of-factedly. "Heard him muttering in his sleep an' everythin'. 'Not the paw pads! Anythin' but the paw pads.'" She snickered, leaving the hare uncertain on the truth of the matter. Deathglare himself had not said anything.
One-Eye shrugged. "I'm not that late."
"Humph, tell that to the King." The dark-furred vermin slunk towards him and continued in a lower voice so as not to be overheard by the other kitchen workers. "We have not received any news from the ships, but there is much talk amidst the slaves. There are threescore more vermin to worry about- all called in from some Northern tribe. One is said to be a seer, and believes the murders are the responsibility of some ghost or spirit."
"Doesn't sound too bad, wot. Nothing we can't manage." The hare pointed out. His optimism was false though, he knew from seasons of experience that the worst news was yet to come.
"Two others have already searched the slavepits." Deathglare whispered harshly. "They wanted to search the kitchens too..." The pine marten sighed. "They will want some words with you after what Sick-Eyes said..."
"An' if ye think ye can come bargin' into my superior's kitchens without me superior's say-so ye've got another thin' comin' don't ye? Flayface was right about ye he was, a pair a' up-jumped, flea-bottomed ole rags! I should take ye out an' beat ye agains' the windows he said! Now if ye'll excuse me I've got slaves te rally an' breakfas' te make!"
The hare groaned. "Did she have to slam the door into their faces?"
"They were persistent little rags, I will give them that." Deathglare crossed his paws against his chest. "It's lucky we locked the doors, else they'd have found us in the middle of one of her cursed stories, nibbling on her cursed biscuits."
"I assume you did the good ole locking?"
"And I made sure I have the only key." A hint of a smile came and went, replaced with the sullen seriousness of one who knew their life was very much at risk.
Silence descended upon the two, but the kitchens were never a silent place. The slaves still had a castle to feed, and so chopped and rolled and stirred the vittles with the usual speed and dexterity of one under a whip. Sick-Eyes barked out all kinds of orders over the low chattering.
Briefly One-Eye considered broaching the topic of Fret, but decided against it. The marten was unlikely to give him any new information. It was abundantly clear the ferret was not in the castle. There was nothing to discuss. Except perhaps...
"Is the mouse getting better?" Deathglare asked, with a tone of general disinterest.
"He sings less and takes his medicine." The hare replied, non-comitally. "His health should improve yes. Although..." He hesitated, and made sure Silvertongue was nowhere in ear-shot. "It might be best not to mention any of the business with his nephew."
The pine marten raised an eyebrow. "The ferret?"
"Yes." The hare scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "At least... not until he's out of this place and better. I fear he would-"
"Do something stupid. I can't imagine why." Deathglare nodded briskly. "I will tell the others. The last thing we need now is that drunk up to mischief.
"I'm glad you agree, wot wot." One-Eye cleared his throat. "Anyways... I suppose I have some slavemastering to do."
"That too, we can agree on."
"The nerve o' those beasties!" Growled a pale white ermine. "Flea-bottomed rag! Pah! I'll turn her into one! See how much she talks then!"
Hopefully less than you... Spitteeth, Longclaw's personal bodyguard and a fox whose fur rivaled the ermine's in palour, was not pleased by the constant need of new beasts. Clogg had taken the better ones south, leaving the castle practically defenseless. The slaves had grown so bold and the murders so bad that the wolverine king had had to resort to calling in external support.
The beasts standing before Spitteeth now had come with threescore vermin behind their backs to bolster the diminished garrison. They were not as loyal as the mute rats, but made up for that in ferocity and initiative. The self-appointed leaders had already searched the slavepits, determined to avoid the grim fates of their predecessors and squash out any potential uprisings. As he was now endlessly being reminded, they had also wanted to search the kitchens.
"Who does he even thin' he is!" The ermine continued ranting. She was tall and lithe, with a fierceness as sharp as her teeth.
"Who?" Croaked an old grey rat. Rumor had it they were a seer. Spitteeth knew not whether it was true, but the elder vermin was as superstitious as they came.
"Flayface." Spat the ermine, as if the very word was intolerable.
The rat furrowed their brow. "I sense no Flayface here..."
"Coz he ain't here." The new Captain of the Gate, an overweight weasel, butted in. "We don' like te talk about beasts where they can see us, do we?"
Spitteeth remained silent. The fox had one paw on the hilt of his sword, as he always did, if ever the need arose he could have it drawn and sticking through somebeast in half a heartbeat. He was not sure what to make of the beasts before him. Seers were often frauds and never rats. The weasel had an air of arrogance around him as strong and foul as an odour. The ermine's idea of leadership was being loud and bossy and talking too much.
On second thought... were he not under orders Spitteeth knew exactly what he'd make of them.
Mincemeat.
But Longclaw had ordered him to watch them, and it was unwise (and often fatal) to act without a king's consent.
"Ye know... speakin' o' Flayface actually." The weasel turned about to make sure they were not being watched. "I have half a min' te stick him somethin' sharp and shove him off a cliff."
"You have no sense of caution Zabal." The rat warned in a low voice. "And lower your voice Chorba, my ears are old and-"
"Yer too cautious Far-Eyes!" Chorba, the ermine snapped. "Mark me word ye'll be the firs' te go."
"Are you threatening me?" Far-Eyes growled dangerously, her thin old hairs rising dangerously.
"Warnin'." Zabal interjected. "She's jus' warnin' ye. While we're here I suggest ye keep yer eyes close by- ye'll need 'em."
"I have no intention of parting with my eyes." The rat retorted. Turning on the spot she now chose to address Spitteeth. "I will require certain herbs, a cauldron and some means of lighting a fire. I must search for spirits... this is an old place and more than ghosts roam these halls at night. Never has a place been so touched by death. The walls reek of it, the wind whispers it-"
Spitteeth chose to tune her out at this point. Any idiot could tell him Chillgrave was touched with death. After some time she finished, and with a curt nod towards the other two, left. Spitteeth followed half-heartedly, his paw still on the handle of his blade.
Zabal turned towards the ermine as soon as they were out of earshot. "I will want words with this Flayface first... but it never hurt to plan ahead..."