Late Night Encounters (Open)

[Abbot Vivian]

(For those who join: There is no posting order to this thread. Simply limit your posts to one apiece a day unless everyone involved posts faster than that. No matter how late in the thread it is, feel free to join if you haven't already.)

“Oh, narrow branch! Oh, narrow branch! Of tree of large design
It bends and bows to the slightest touch like a fishin’ line
Clumsy climber lose your balance and to earth your life’s resigned
Unless you grab onto that snake, thinkin’ it’s a vine.

Oh, angered snake! Oh, angered snake! On tree of large design
You bite and squeeze ‘til victim’s life to you has been resigned
And when he’s nice and good and dead upon him you will dine
Like Sweetfang here whose skills have long since been refined!”

It was a clear winter night in the Mossflower woods; at such a late hour many creatures were resting cozily in their quaint homes. Their sleep was disturbed only by the song of a wretched pine marten. Not a single woodlander left their dens to bother with the vermin.

Not only was he armed with a sword, marking him as a danger, but he was also situated near the top of an oak tree. The earthbound creatures had no way of touching him unless they tried shooting him down with arrows. The most they could hope for was a predatory bird to swoop down and silence the performer regardless of how beautifully he sung.

Sweetfang stopped to rest his lungs, noticing that his songs had yet to entice a single tasty forest dweller to him. Weren’t young ones supposed to be curious and rebellious little things? Why hadn’t one left the comfort and safety proffered to them by their parents to greet him yet?

Quite a number of questions swirled in the marten’s head while he reached underneath his branch. He broke off an icicle the size of his forearm and returned to his former position. He gnawed on it and drank the water that melted off it in the warmth of his mouth to quench his thirst.

[Glavon]

Fang scowled momentarily as the singing reached his ears.

He fingered the handle of his steel sword, letting a claw sweep over the inlaid rock gem. Did this creature not know that its singing was not wanted? Determined to find the source of the horrible noise, Fang started forward. Instantly, it seemed, the song was cut off.

It was about then that the weasel spotted the golden-brown fur of a pine marten. Brambles clawed at his blue-streaked black fur as he crouched down among the dying leaves of the bushes. It was only a short respite from walking, though, for the next thing Fang knew, his eyes had found the figure of a young mouse who had obviously gone investigating.

The weasel raised his face slightly and sniffed the air, but the only thing he could scent was the snow as it began to fall. The mouse, on the other hand, looked up at the pine marten and walked farther forward.

Fang watched; he would just have to see what happened.

[Wildrun]

Swing had a problem.

Not a problem, persay, more like a disturbance.

Not even a disturbance, really, just the impossibility he was coming up against in the attempted action of falling asleep.

Who knew the woodlands were so noisy at night?

"Shuddap," muttered the hare, smothering his long ears with his balled-up traveling cloak and kicking the ground irritably. "Oi, mate, would ye' shuddap already? Poor beasts like me're trying to sleep, y'know."

Well aware that no one could hear his grumblings, swing sat up agasint the sturdy trunk of the oak he had chosen for the night. Chilly fall air surrounded him, raising bumps on his skin and making him shiver. Night had fallen, and even so early in the season his breath was outlined like smoke against the dark sky. Farther off, the very tips of Redwall Abbey, his destination, poked over the treetops. The hare had actually turned in early on this particular night, hoping one more day's traveling would bring him to the wide wooden gates.

How was he suposed to walk all day through the woods if he couldn't sleep?

"Not that ye' don't have a wonderful singin' voice, mate, but I do wish you'd save your bloody breath," Swing grouched, throwing his cloak over one shoulder and hurrying through the still trees, ears flopped over to show he was righteously peeved. Whoever it was, he'd show them a thing or two about lullabyes!

[Abbot Vivian]

As the silence of the forest night returned, Sweetfang’s ears twitched a little at the sound of the telltale soft paw-steps of a young creature approaching. His mouth twisted into a savage grin and he muttered to himself, “Dinner has arrived.” Afterward, he chuckled softly and carelessly dropped the icicle to the frozen ground below.

The pine marten left the safety of the tree and, after a quick earthward climb, stood, facing a curious young mouse. He was just a little one, hardly old enough to speak a proper dialect. Sweetfang smiled at him, the mouse was just too perfect!

The young rodent quivered a little, he had never been this close to vermin before. The little one’s terror only heightened upon noticing the scabbard-contained sword secured to the marten’s sash. He was too intimidated to speak, a problem Sweetfang did not share.

Sweetfang reached out with his paws and wrapped his clawed digits around the arms of his terrified prey. He was not considerably strong, but a fully grown pine marten such as him had plenty of strength to lift a small mouse with ease. The little one let out a frightened scream. As though in reaction to the sudden noise, the marten twirled around and slammed his captive spine-first into the trunk of the tree within which he had just been resting.

Sweetfang freed his left paw and wordlessly unsheathed his curved weapon. He rested the blade levelly within the mouse’s neck fur. One wrong move on either the mouse or a potential rescuer’s part and the marten would very well end up slitting the poor creature’s throat.

Sweetfang lowered his head toward the mouse’s head. His cold nose brushed into the warmth of the little one’s head fur. Sweetfang inhaled through his nostrils slowly, withdrew his head, and exhaled ecstatically through his mouth. The marten’s hot breath, visible in the moonlight and winter air, swept over the mouse’s features, causing him to tremble furiously.

“W-what are y-you g-go-going t-to do to m-m-m-me?” The mouse stuttered.

The innocence in his voice only humored the carnivorous marten. “I need your help.” He answered.

“With what?” The mouse nervously asked.

“Gathering wood and building a fire.” Sweetfang replied with a chuckle that only further discomfited his captive.

[Glavon]

Fang's dark black eyes carefully watched the marten as the young mouse approached. He sensed that the mouse would be nervous at being this close to vermin as it rightfully should be. The black-furred weasel drew his sword.

The carmel-colored marten easily climbed down the tree, a feat that Fang may have been able to accomplish. The marten approached the little mouse and grabbed it viciously. It screamed, and the marten whirled around and slammed its back into the tree trunk, then drew a sharp blade and placed it just under the young beast's neck. After a second, the marten withdrew the blade and placed a nose to the little creature's head.

W-what are y-you g-go-going t-to do to m-m-m-me? the mouse stuttered fearfully. The marten seemed to smile, although it had probably been Fang's imagination. Yes, that's right, he had one.

I need your help. the marten stated flatly.

With what? came the young mouse's voice.

Gathering wood and building a fire. the marten said with a chuckle; by this time Fang was up and, with a quick movement, went to stand in front of the little mouse.

"Don't...move." Fang whispered silently to the mouse, and faced the dangerous pine marten. It was puzzling the weasel why the marten would have need for a mouse.

Silently, Fang stood there, waiting for the marten to begin the conversation.

[Wildrun]

If there had been any pretense of decorum on the scene, it was quickly dispersed as Swing came crashing through the nearest foliage.

"Owch! I say, you rotters, wot, ya' could've picked an easier spot for a powow this late in the bloody night, wot! Now," raved the hare, striking a pose and flopping his ears so that they were shaped like a 'v' as he glared at the trio, "which one of you warblers has been keeping me up, wot? I'll challenge 'im right now if it'll shut ya' up!"

Having said so, he threw a few mock punches in to the air and danced back and forth on his feet, scowling. You would never have guessed he had arrived a bare few seconds before he had appeared, his ears having picked up the terrified squeal of a mouse that was now between two vermin. Despite his appearances, Swing was not completely stupid.

He could hardly see without the clear moonlight, but what he glanced was enough. He bounced nearer the company, still pretending to box the mutinous singer, only now his epee was drawn and swished through the air to halt, quivering, and rove from the weasel to the marten.

His jovial voice belied the calm half-smile. The hare hoped Fang, a weasel he had met before, was watching as he winked once, hardly a flicker of the eye. Somewhere to his right, and owl hooted.

"I'm guessin' ye' can gather yer own wood, wot, mate?"

[Abbot Vivian]

Sweetfang scowled a little when he realized that his songs had attracted the attention of some unwanted dinner guests. Unlike the usual kind of guest, he doubted that either of them would let him make off with the his dinner, especially if they knew what he had planned for the mouse. First came the silent weasel who stood next to the captive mouse. The weasel stared at him silently as though waiting for the marten to explain himself.

Then there was an obnoxious hare who came charging forward as subtly as a mace to a tree. He shouted a series of indignations and threw punches into the emptiness in front of him. Sweetfang was no fool to the danger he posed. He knew only too well that further precautions were needed after the hare had drawn his weapon and pointed it threateningly at him.

He stared at the hare and lifted his own sword so that its devastatingly sharp edge became as a narrow glinting line in the shadow boxer’s perspective. Almost instantly, Sweetfang’s right paw shifted from the mouse’s left shoulder to his other one. He spun the young creature around and toward him so that his back rested dangerously against the marten’s round belly.

He returned the blade to its former position, buried shallowly within the neck fur of his captive. He was now holding a hostage less than half his size. The mouse made a pitiful body shield without a doubt, but the fact that the kilij could easily slip and slit his throat, even by accident, still remained.

“Do the little one and me a favor and go back to wherever it is you came from.” Sweetfang ordered the hare. “Because if either of you insist on fighting me,” He continued and glanced at the weasel for a moment. Vermin such as Sweetfang learned long ago to trust neither other vermin nor good beasts. “Then I suppose the mouse is nothing more than dead weight as far as I‘m concerned.”

[Glavon]

Owch! I say, you rotters, wot, ya' could've picked an easier spot for a powow this late in the bloody night, wot! Now, which one of you warblers has been keeping me up, wot? I'll challenge 'im right now if it'll shut ya' up!"

A hare came bounding through the bushes, attracting Fang's attention, and it was with a quick glance he realized he'd seen the hare before, somewhere. Fang's ears pricked as he realized it was Swing, who winked at him. He blinked back in response, and turned back to the marten as the hare spoke again.

I'm guessin' ye' can gather yer own wood, wot, mate?

Obviously realizing why Fang and Swing were there, the marten scowled and moved the mouse to stand in front of him, then pointed his sword at the hare before moving it to slightly prick the throat of the mouse.

Do the little one and me a favor and go back to wherever it is you came from. Because if either of you insist on fighting me, then I suppose the mouse is nothing more than dead weight as far as I‘m concerned. the marten ordered them, but Fang wasn't really listening.

This marten was almost as bad as Glavon Snow and Bryce Stoneclaw. The weasel carefully watched the marten as he spoke.

"That's right. Kill it like the vermin you are. But, just to say...you can kill it and it won't change anything, because I will still kill you. If you let it go..." Fang let the challenge trail off into empty silence before he spoke again. "I just may be lenient."

[Abbot Vivian]

Sweetfang carefully observed the reactions from both the hare and the weasel, but it was the weasel who caught most of his attention. It interested him to know that the weasel portrayed a certain amount of concern for the mouse’s well-being, just not enough to take orders from him apparently. He even referred to the mouse as an it rather than a he for he was most definitely male. “You contradict yourself, mate.” Sweetfang said with a sneer.

“You pretend to care for the little beast, but you’d rather avenge his death than save his life. You call me vermin and I confess to what I am, but you are no different.” He paused for a moment and thought carefully about what he said. “Actually, you are a bit different because being a weasel just makes you an inferior specimen, but that‘s beside the point.” He soon corrected himself.

Sweetfang paused again, his head was filled with scheming thoughts as he tried coming up with a solution to his predicament that satisfied him. He smiled and spoke again, but to the mouse and in a hushed tone so that only the young one heard his words. “I’m going to let you go, but before you run home, I want you to do something.”

He lowered his head closer to the mouse’s ears while keeping his eyes fixated on the weasel before speaking to the mouse again. He also lowered his voice further to the point that even one with sensitive ears could not understand the words that the mouse heard only too clearly.

Sweetfang lowered his blade and kicked the mouse forward into the snow. “Go on now, do as you’re told and don’t try running away because I will catch you.” The mouse stared back at the speaking marten. An expression of horror was frozen on the young one’s face even as he turned to face the weasel.

The mouse wordlessly walked toward the other vermin, trembling uncontrollably. He looked into the weasel’s eyes and spoke barely above a whisper. “Thank-” He could not finish thanking the weasel for saving him as ordered by his demented captor.

Sweetfang had sped toward the mouse just as he began to carry out his instructions. The treacherous marten thrust his sword forward and through the young creature. Due to its curved blade, the kilij was a cutting implement and any stabs its wielder made with it against another living thing ended up awkward and horrifically messy. The broad tip of the weapon burst through the little one’s belly and appeared as a black glistening device of cruelty before the weasel.

Sweetfang knew the limitations of his weapon better than anyone and ensured he had not mistakenly missed any of his victim’s vitals. He twisted his weapon and yanked it out. Life slowly left the mouse’s eyes whose final struggling gasps were meant as expressions of agony and fear. Before the body collapsed to the ground, the marten kicked its bleeding form toward the weasel.

“You insisted on turning this into a fight, weasel. I made good on my promise. Time to see if you can do the same.” Sweetfang uttered the challenge and continued hiding the fact that it had been his intention all along to kill the mouse.

[Glavon]

You contradict yourself, mate.

There was a hint of a sneer in the marten's voice; Fang caught this easily.

You pretend to care for the little beast, but you’d rather avenge his death than save his life. You call me vermin and I confess to what I am, but you are no different. Actually, you are a bit different because being a weasel just makes you an inferior specimen, but that‘s beside the point.

Fang carefully reached into a small pouch on his belt and came out with a pawful of glistening, razor-sharp metal objects. His expression was bored as he slipped one on each claw; this reinforced the power of his claws. He knew that the marten could see the movement, but Fang also knew where this was going.

"And a pine marten is so much better?" Fang asked flatly.

Go on now, do as you’re told and don’t try running away because I will catch you.

Was the next thing the weasel heard, as the marten had whispered something into the mouse's ear.

The mouse began to walk towards Fang.

Thank- it began.

Fang was just a second too late. He'd expected the marten's next movement; but it moved with such startling swiftness that, by the time he'd gotten ready to lunge with his sword, the mouse was looking bewildered as a black tip grew from its stomach.

The marten twisted his weapon and pulled it from the back of the mouse; Fang knew instantly the mouse would die. The marten shoved the dying mouse toward Fang, who snarled instinctively, but the noise soon died away, and the mouse looked at him with glassy eyes before it collapsed to the earth.

You insisted on turning this into a fight, weasel. I made good on my promise. Time to see if you can do the same.

Any other creature would probably have gotten very mad and upset at the marten's act of murder, but not Fang. The weasel, his expression neutral, blinked once.

"Does that make you feel any better? Killing young ones because it makes you feel strong?"

[Wildrun]

((Sorry. D:))

"Does it matter wot 'e feels?"

The sentence was cold, slipping through Swing's teeth and falling to the ground like a hailstone, bouncing agianst the cold earth and sending cold shivers up spines. A bare moment after it landed, the hare had darted forward, a blurred smudge detaching itself form the night and bringing an epee down like the stroke of a razor-sharp moonbeam.

A grim, dissatisfied twtich curled Swing's lips, one side up and one side down. Clear, frigid moonlight shaded his face, putting his lopsided ear in shadow and making his blue eyes flash. The epee suddenly froze, poised just at the marten's chest. Gently, Swing tapped the vermin's fur once, twice, and glared into his eyes.

Another snetence, cold, flat, plummeting from the hare's mouth, "A deadbeast can't feel anything, can 'e?"

You could never tell that the hare was half bluffing--that suddenly, he had made up his mind. That if he could, he'd take this marten alive and return to Salamandastron. Yes, that's exactly what this creature deserved; let the officers deal with him.

Without warning, as he stared at the marten's face and slow anger boiled in his stomach, Swing saw a brief image flash across his mind's eye. A wanted poster back in teh shrew camp he'd visited just the other week.

Fine, then. This marten wouldn't have the mercy of going to the badger mountain--Swing would give the shrews a present instead.

"Drop the sticker, mate, and I'll see if ya' can live longer than that poor wee beastie. Understand me, wot?"

[Abbot Vivian]

Sweetfang acted as though he hadn’t heard the weasel’s remark and used the seconds it took him to make his statement to clean his weapon. He wiped it twice, once on either side of its flat section, against a clean area of the dead mouse’s fur. He brought it back to his face for inspection and smiled at what he had accomplished. The blood of the young one that had given its dark appearance had almost been wiped away completely. “Don’t want it rusting.” He muttered.

The hare suddenly charged toward him unlike the seemingly calm and collected weasel. ‘He’s fast, maybe as fast as I am,’ Sweetfang thought in another one of his observations.

Like any intelligent creature, Sweetfang kept his thoughts to himself and let his actions voice his intentions all on their own. He waved his curved sword to the side and knocked the epee away from him before it managed to sink into his fur let alone his skin. Whether or not it was his opponent’s desire to kill him with his first strike, the marten displayed his own speed and unwillingness to let any weapon touch him.

Sweetfang stared directly into the hare’s eyes and licked his lips hungrily. Hares were awfully delicious beasts unless they were truly aged. They always stayed in shape, they kept themselves nicely stuffed, and their elusiveness made them into a rare delicacy.

Sweetfang chuckled and pushed himself away from his armed opponent. He then broke into a brief song.

“Before me stands a brainy hare
He knows the law of this land
Life and death are in your care
If a weapon you have in hand”

As soon as he ended the song, he spoke again and addressed the hare. “You seem like the honorable type and I don’t trust the weasel to mind his own business and let us have at each other. Tell you what, let me and the weasel fight amongst ourselves. If I lose, you can take me or what’s left of me wherever you please.” He paused for a moment. “If I win, then it’ll be our turn to have a good and proper fight.”

Sweetfang clearly understood the odds. If forced to fight both of them at once, he’d have to flee and he’d end up with nothing for dinner. If he could fight them one at a time, he figured he could make quick work of the weasel and conserve his energy and skill for his battle against the speedy hare he strongly wished to grill and devour.

[Glavon]

Remember that otter you nearly killed? Fang thought to himself silently. Practice on the marten. No one'll care if it lives.

Does it matter wot 'e feels?

Fang gave a slight, absent shrug; he wasn't really paying much attention as he flexed his claws, imagining them tearing into the murderous pine marten's flesh. A growl began to bubble in his throat.

A deadbeast can't feel anything, can 'e?

"True enough." Fang murmured flatly, devoid of emotion as usual. He watched Swing through the corners of his black eyes.

Drop the sticker, mate, and I'll see if ya' can live longer than that poor wee beastie. Understand me, wot?

Fang's eyes flickered slightly with just a drop of anger; as the marten casually wiped his blood-stained blade on the dead mouse's fur. Very faintly, the weasel heard the marten's voice, as if it was far away.

Don’t want it rusting.

He didn't acknowledge the statement and watched as the marten stared at the hare. The marten, crazily enough, actually looked kind of hungry as it licked its lips...

Fang's ears pricked. A carnivore...was that what the marten was? A beast who killed others and ate them? Fang almost shuddered as he realized, if his reasoning was correct, that the mouse's fate would have been worse had he not intervened; it would have been cooked and eaten. Almost certainly, this was what the marten would have planned for Swing...

Before me stands a brainy hare
He knows the law of this land
Life and death are in your care
If a weapon you have in hand.

More singing. Fang lifted his blade threatiningly.

You seem like the honorable type and I don’t trust the weasel to mind his own business and let us have at each other. Tell you what, let me and the weasel fight amongst ourselves. If I lose, you can take me or what’s left of me wherever you please. If I win, then it’ll be our turn to have a good and proper fight.

Fang bit back his retort. That's just because you want to eat him! he snarled in his mind. He wasn't planning to let the pine marten win. If it happened, Swing's life was at stake, and the marten would probably eat the mouse too.

He would win. And when he did, the marten would be going to Hellgates.

"All right then," he said reasonably. "You start."

[Wildrun]

A fight, most definetely--

"Sorry, wot. I never agreed to that."

--without him, no way.

Even as he was speaking, though, the clarity swing saw with in the night's gleam caught the briefest, most sudden flash in Fang's eyes. Here once, gone as soon. Anger? Understandable.

Grinding his jaw, the hare frowned. His nostrils flared at the very idea of being, as it were, second course in a fight. He hadn't missed the stench that just barely wafted from this marten's clothes, or the insane way his eyes smiled. It would indeed have been hard not to notice the twitch of a tongue wetting lips. If this creature wanted him for dinner, he could bloody well fight for it!

But Fang might interfere. The hare knew little of the weasel, and even though he judged Fang as an unlikely candidate to jump into a brawl uninvited, there was always a chance...the anger that was already undoubtably simmering in the waesel might effect his mind. No matter how small the chance, a chance there still was of interference from Fang. And then one of them might be hurt.

Swing had already made up his mind that only the marten would feel pain tonight. He spat on the ground, flicked his epee to trim the marten's left whiskers, and stepped back.

"Have at it, wot."

[Abbot Vivian]

It came as no surprise to him that the weasel accepted his proposal, but it was the hare’s response he required before proceeding. He eyed both of them and kept his weapon ready just in case either of them tried anything. The hare backed away, telling them to have at each other.

“Remember this, hare,” Sweetfang spoke as he began circling the weasel. “If you interfere before the fight is concluded, I will retreat to the trees, I will follow and watch you until you are asleep, and then,” He paused briefly for dramatic effect. “I will kill you.”

When he finished speaking, he ran toward the weasel and swung his blade down at him. Sweetfang targeted the weasel’s left shoulder and intended to inflict a deep downward diagonal cut. His smile indicated that he was more than happy to accept his opponent’s invitation to make the first move.

[Glavon]

Have at it, wot.

Fang blinked and twitched his blade a fraction in response to Swing's statement.

Remember this, hare, if you interfere before the fight is concluded, I will retreat to the trees, I will follow and watch you until you are asleep, and then I will kill you.

"And you're actually stupid enough to tell him what you're going to do?"

A very observant beast may have caught the millesecond flash of a smile on the weasel's face; but if their attention was not fully on him, they would have seen nothing. Fang noticed that the marten was rushing at him. It tried a vicious downward swing of the blade...

Only to have it bite the air. Where the weasel had been standing, nothing remained; instead, Fang was now behind the marten. With an expert flick of the blade, Fang tried to give the marten a sizeable cut across the back.

[Wildrun]

((Very sorry. But, actually, if you two are fighting, go ahead and skip me. I'll make an entry when things slow down.))

[greenfang]

Malficus Greenfang, Mortis Darkfang, and Brenna Redfang sat around a fire on a cold winter night. The terrible trio had just finished destroying a peaceful woodland village single handedly. If you could call three a single hand. The village had been small, less than a score beasts had lived there, and none of them were warriors. They had all been easy prey for the northern fighters. The village was now an empty, burnt, husk. All its inhabitants were fleeing or lying dead in the snow that was gently falling.

The trio of savage ferrets now had a feast on hand, taken from the villagers. "This is the life," said Greenfang in a sinister tone, "not like the north-lands." He took a bite out of a apple turnover that had been carefully baked by an innocent beast only hours before.

"The snow was this deep up there," said Redfang, stretching her paw up to show the snow was very, very deep. Suddenly, Sweetfang's clear singing voice cut across the woodlands. The three ferrets stiffened, their ears back.

"Some-beast is singing," said Darkfang flatly.

"Thanks a lot," said Brenna sarcastically, "we didn't know." Then, the song stopped. Something else was happening. Other angry noises pierced through the cold winter night.

Maleficus stood up, facing the direction from which the noises came. "Follow me," he said, an evil smile forming on his face. The other two had no idea what he had in mind. They looked at each-other, shrugged, and followed him.

It wasn't long before the trio had broken suddenly into the fight. Greenfang had to leap to the side to avoid Sweetfang's blade. "Watch it marten," he snarled. Then he saw the weasel counter attacking and the hare standing off to the side. This was a duel. Maleficus was not at an honorable beast. But, he left the combatants to their own, signalling the other two ferrets to do the same.

[Abbot Vivian]

Sweetfang’s opponent managed to avoid his first strike, but that did little to bother the marten. He thought positively upon his present situation. He had been able to observe how quickly his present foe could move about. He noticed that the weasel was more than a competent combatant. However, he was not quite as fast or as nimble as Sweetfang who specialized in those areas along with his skillful use of his first and only weapon that he had obtained many seasons ago.

Sweetfang responded to the weasel’s counter by spinning around and bringing his sword up to block the downward slash. The marten was intelligent enough to block his enemy’s weapon with a flat side of his kilij to avoid unnecessary wear on its murder-prone cutting edge. He brought his other paw up to support his blade and prevent the weasel from forcing his sword down upon him. He then kicked out toward his enemy’s midsection.

He was long since aware of the arrival of three other beasts because one of them had warned him to be a little more careful with his weapon. Sweetfang may have reacted to their presence, but he had his paws full with the weasel before him. He remained wary of the three, but kept most of his attention invested in his present opponent.

The newcomers seemed to be minding their own business for the time being. Sweetfang decided not to speak to them to avoid saying something that may offend them and persuade them to join the fight. After all, vermin would be vermin.

[Glavon]

(I posted late! D=)

Fang hissed as the marten thrust its blade up into the air and the weasel's blade met the flat part of the marten's kilij and rebounded off in a flurry of glowing red and yellow sparks. The force had carried Fang backward as the marten lashed out with a footpaw. Since he had flown backward, only the marten's pawclaws grazed his stomach slightly, leaving three reddish lines that were invisible against the tar-black fur.

It was then the weasel noticed the three ferrets; although he hadn't heard what they'd said, he suspected they were up to no good. Fang heightened his reflexes, ready to dodge a blow from them and one from the marten enemy.

He stepped forward and attempted to slash the marten's muzzle open with the steel-enforced claws on one paw, and then curled the other paw into a fist and struck out at the marten's jaw. He then grabbed his blade and attempted to slash the marten's neck with the edge of the blade. Stepping back, the weasel watched for the marten's next move with narrowed black eyes.

(You really can't post much in a fight.)