TGS - A stubbed direction [PLOT]

[Wildrun]

Brown eyes narrowed furiously, Oaklea supressed the unexplainable surge of rage as the rat came forward. A lair. Liar, liar, liar, liar, liar...

"If that's all you're here for," she hissed out, biting off the ends of her words, "then--why--were-you--hiding?"

Accusing the newcomer of something that hadn't happened yet was unjust, and Oaklea knew it. At the moment, though, she didn't quite care. Her line of thought was unrationanl and unfounded, but here...here! This rat! This rat who had the gaul to lie to them--Oaklea almost always knew when someone was lying to her, if it was as obvious as that--this rat who knealt before them in fear and lied and expected her to have mercy! This rat, this rat, this--this--!!!

...Was it possible that this rat's presence in the Abbey was what had terrified Rasthur?

A mental roar of indignation sent Oaklea's thoughts spinning--she lurched forward with blazing eyes, hand on her daggord's handle, hissing through her teeth at Maximillian, "How long have you been here, rat?"

((Sorry for the wait, guys. And, to clear things up a bit, Yves--

Oaklea has issues with vermin. She's no pacifist like Mapel is. She has berserker tendancies and jumps to conclusions. Sometimes one of those conclusions is that someone is lying to her, whether they are or not, like now...even though Max kinda is, I'm not giving her ESP or anything--she's just a little pain in the butt sometimes. She doesn't KNOW that Max snuck in or what his motives are, but 'evidence' (as she might call it) that Rasthur is having a fit and Max has suddenly appeared from nowhere, asking for mercy, brings her to the descision that Max is up to no good.

...I'm going to go get a new perscirption ofm edicine for you, Oaklea.
Oaklea: Go soak your head.
Me: -.-" ))

[William]

Will took a step back as the old fox seemed to finally revert back to something approaching his normal self. He just let him talk as Will slowly began to mull over what he was saying. But part of his mind was also thinking darker thoughts.

Something like this never happens unless something major is about to happen....and its not normally something to symbol a good growing season is on the way. No. Something wicked this way comes...and we need to know everything so we can prepare.

Looking back at the old fox he waited for Oaklea to finish before he spoke. "We need you to describe him Rasthur, as best as you can, so we kn..." Was as far as Will got before a sword slid across the stone floor and lay quivering near their feet.

Spinning around and resting a paw on his sword hilt Will watched as a rat stepped out of the shadows, blood covering his clothes and slowly seeping out of his arm. Reaching out he set his paw on Oaklea's shoulder, and applied a firm grip as he spoke, his eyes never leaving the rat. "Calm yourself Oaklea, we don't judge like that here, let the rat explain himself before we make a decision..."

Had Will's mind not be worried about Rasthur and his vision he might have thought how the rat had gotten in....when the gate was barred and all the side doors bolted.

[Rasthur Grassrunner]

A slow, slight smile spread across the muzzle of the still panting fox. Fearsome warriors, just the reminder that he needed to reassure him that he was still an outsider here. He opened his mouth to retort the statement whilst describing the assailant but was interrupted before breath could escape his lips -

Schhh..

Compressed coiled springs in Rasthur's feet sprung as he near leapt in a quite literally, blind direction, narrowly avoiding another collision with a wall through the use of a guiding paw. The sound of metal scraping against stone was as unnerving now as it was seasons ago - it was the sound of a weapon being sharpened, weapons were sharpened for killing and who better to kill then him?

I am unarmed.... Deep wrinkles and creases formed in his muzzle as he crinkled his nose in disgust, the over-whelming smell of blood. A scent he was all too familiar with, sure the occasional cut or accident that had occurred in the Abbey simulated the memories - but never in a dose this large.

Grey ears pricked and twitched, whilst his mind attempted to decipher just who or what had declared so freely that he was on the run, the scent was muffled by blood and had he not known better, he would've sworn this creature was a Squirrel.

A Squirrel's tongue and tone did not sound like poison. Rasthur knew vermin, he was vermin, he was a vermin among vermin. But this creature wasn't kin - he wasn't a Fox and was therefore a lesser being.

Rasthur grinned toothily, revealing the gaps in his teeth and fangs as he did so. Oaklea was suspicious of this creature and presented a point that had not crossed his mind before, something that was enough to topple his reasoning into conclusion.

"I smell a rat." Were the old fox's eyes visible, they would've leaked a killing intent that would have paled that of the Warrior whom had pursued him, but his grin was message enough of his intentions.


((Lame use of sounds. But I couldn't really think of a better way to describe it.))

[Wildrun]

((I think it's your turn, Yves. ))

[Yves]

((I know, I know school's been a killer lately

And don't worry Wildrun, anyone with half a gelatinous mass in their cranial cavity would be suspicious of Max xP I don't think it's unrealistic that Oaklea should suspect him))

Predictably, the Redwallers had not accepted him with open arms. He was, in the end, a rat. However, he was not dead, and that was a start.

Nevertheless, he couldn't help but tremble, a bloody, small, wide-eyed creature in the flickering glare of so many torches. He was so vulnerable, so alone in this abbey, trapped like a rat in a cage. He had these daggers, and that short sword, under his vest, but nothing that would really save him against any large number of opponents.

"But they haven't killed me yet. I musn't panic. If I remain in control of my senses, if I play the game correctly, they'll let me leave, or even stay, without so much as touching me... I just... just have to dispel the more reasonable causes of concern..."

Maximillian cleared his throat, and looked straight at Oaklea with the eyes of the most frightened, but purely harmless dibbun.

"I shouldn't have hidden, but... but look at yourselves now. Do I have any reason to feel safe here? When we're done here, will you look back, and accept that it was wise for me to reveal myself? You would have... indeed have... jumped to conclusions because of my race. I thought I could just hide out here, just for a little while, and then leave when it seemed safe. I got in by jumping from a tree onto the wall, merely to escape my pursuers, merely to hide. Had I been of m-malicious intent, of any... any..."

He gulped, and held his head as he struggled for the word. Now was not the time to studder, to whimper pitifully along like some sort of convict under scrutiny. Now was the time for flourishing rhetoric, for the true expression of his persuasive, deceitful talents, those abilities he had for so long cultivated, and which now abandoned him in a shivering, almost impotent pile.

"Look, if I were here to hurt you, why didn't I do it? Can any of you answer that? What reason could I possibly have for hiding in a broom closet? If I were the rat you say you smell, I wouldn't have hid in a broom closet; I would be stalking the halls, killing the loners I would find. I would stick to the shadows. I-I would not just jump out, and put myself at your... your evidently... evidently... faltering mercy. I knew, knew you would never understand, never listen, never... n-n.."

Maximillian grabbed his chest, and gasped in long, slow breaths, as his head suddenly blew up with a dizzying pulse of blood-pressure. He had been hyperventilating, apparently.

"Please," he gasped, in what was now the most pathetic whimper he had ever heard, even from himself. He was shaking so badly that his tail made a soft rasping pattern against the dust-strewn floors of the abbey. "Please... Please..."

He was absolutely out of control of himself. He was weak, panicked, a wide eyed, scatter-brained, wild-furred maniac, who was obviously absolutely overcome by terror. Then again, maybe that's what he should have gone for from the beginning--harmlessly little, safely afraid, laughably incompetent, the kind of rat that really would try to hide from the dark enemies in the dark forest by hiding in the citadel of another, greater foe, just for the comforting light of that citadel, the deceptive security of its walls.

"I know.. th-that the circumstances are strange, that I am a rat, that my kind has done more harm to yours than I could ever repay, but please, don't kill me when you have no proof, no concrete reason to have such hatred for me..."

[Wildrun]

"Faltering....mercy."

Her lip curled, but she unclenched her paw from around the hilt of her weapon and took a step back, nodding stiffly at William. Oaklea glared hard at Maximillian, feeling a wave of somewhat disgusted pity sweep over her. This rat was good, very good. But William was right--judging was wrong. The last thing she needed tonight was a moral conflict to keep her awake when she finally got back to bed--if she finally returned to bed.

She repeated again, "Faltering. Mercy?" If it hadn't been so completely insulting to her code of morals, Oaklea might have laughed (or at least chuckled). She flashed Max a glinting, not at all comforting grin and informed him in a dry voice, "You've just yourself pointed out that rats have never really been friends with mice. I'm sure you'd know faltering mercy if you saw it."

The comment was meant to sting, and for a moment she revealed in the biting tone she'd just thrown into the face of her foe. In the back of her mind, it was an unprovoked shot. In the front of her mind, she had already made a new enemy.

Oaklea's tail twitched in the direction of Rasthur, a kind of salute to him as to his sly remark only moments earlier. Even though he wouldn't see the gesture, it felt as though she had an ally in this mental non-war between her and the rat. The rat....

"I don't even know your name," she said abruptly. She c.ocked her head and eyed him in a brooding way. Her dark eyes simply broadcasted the thought, "'I-don't-know-what-you're-trying-to-pull-but-I-blame-you-for-this-disaster-even-though-I-will-try-to-remeber-that-you're-innocent-until-proven-guilty,-just-don't-count-on-it'". Nostrils flaring in an unconscious defense agianst the rusty smell of blood--unlike her sister, Mapel, Oaklea had no fear of blood and was unconsciously used to it by now-- she extended a paw and left if hovering, as if daring Max not to take it. "I'm Oaklea Wildrun. It's...a pleasure--and unexpected pleasure--to meet you."

The hostility was obvious, but the effort put forth seemed to count for something (to her, at least).

((Sorry for the long wait, guys. Work.

I'm a Gmod noww~! *dances*

And ya, anyway, how's everyone? *random*))

[William]

(Not so great actually Wildrun, been sick for...lets see, nine days and counting >.< )
(But gratz on the promotion )


Will continued to examine the rat as he set up a new wave of pleas and moans. He had to admit this rat was good. It was almost as if he was actually scared. No, no...Dont think like that, learn first then judge. But it was very hard to believe that he would just jump over the wall to escape his pursuers. Surely he knew what this abbey stood for, a place of safety for good beasts, and a stronghold to fight the evil vermin.

Another thing....how was the rat still walking around and talking with that much blood over him. Though the shivering could be a good indication of his current state. So many problems with this rat....not looking to good for him.

But the true test would be how the rat reacted to Oaklea....If it was with a calm pawshake and a level head then that rat might have a chance. If not....well then maybe more blood would be added to that shirt, if the worst came to worst of course.

[Rasthur Grassrunner]

Jump to conclusions? Faltering mercy? The fox steadied his lithe and withered figure slowly, recovering from his previous physical ordeal and regaining his bearing on his surroundings - namely getting to his feet and attempting to face the direction of the voices; for pure courtesy.

A dry chuckle rose from within Rasthur's throat, a harsh gravel-like sound that was a complete mockery of the values that laughter stood for, his entire body shook with each rumble that rose from his lungs to his throat. Despite himself and all that had happened thus far, he found this amusing - despite the irony of it all.
"Oh very good," The laughter ceased as abruptly as it had started, "Stalking the halls?" Drooped lips curled into a cruel sneer, mocking this rat in his fear, the night had not been kind to Rasthur and he was not in a particularly merciful mood.

"An interesting story. Yet an odd method to seek aid. You make as poor an assassin as you make a liar." Indeed, Rasthur was enjoying himself, feeling some degree of superiority over this pitiful creature by pushing him even further into the abyss of fear. He didn't care whether this rat was telling the truth or not, he didn't care whether he was genuinely in need or not, he couldn't care less if this rat really did plan to slaughter the entire Abbey - he had lived his life and retired to this place in hopes of dying with redemption and peace.

I'm Oaklea Wildrun. It's...a pleasure--and unexpected pleasure--to meet you.

Brilliant. The laughter returned again, the dry, humourless sound that existed only to hurt, returned. Rasthur's chuckles were not out of fear or defiance as much as they were for his cynicism. He was enjoying this and the sheer amount of malice that he heard dripping from those words was like sweet nectar to his ears.

What point was there to concealing feelings like this? Such logic was beyond the fox's comprehension, but was not his place to judge.

[Yves]

((Hey, congratulations Wildrun! The promotion couldn't have gone to a more capable member ^^

And I'm a tad sick and exhausted by sleep deprivation =w=;; I'm otherwise not quite bad though xP))

If the abbey-dwellers had thought that throwing minor insults at a worm so self-consciously pitiful as Maximillian would somehow hurt him, they were almost totally wrong. Almost. What the unabashed venom in their voices told him was that his instincts had served him perfectly, that however much they might have enjoyed calling him a liar, scum, and the like, they thought he was more laughable than dangerous.

So, Maximillian's brain was almost egotistically pleased. It had, after all, succeeded, if inadvertently, in turning an almost completely hopeless situation into an apparent advantage. He was no longer a shadowy stranger among these creatures, but a ridiculous, and increasingly familiar clown. The more familiar he became, the longer they would tolerate him, and the longer they tolerated him, the longer they dismissed him as a faltering shadow beneath their feet, the longer he had to turn Rasthur's condescending little cackle back to the lost, terrified howl he had heard earlier, and from there... who knew? The potential for this subject, so frightened by his own imagination, was attractive, to say the least.

Unfortunately, the brain's victorious ballad was mere harmony to the orchestra of Maximillian's conscious. The real song, the real raging beat kept in time by a hammering heart, was strangled, irrational emotion. The terror was still with him, shaking his knees, beating his back over and over with the shivering vacillation of insecurity, but that emotion was accompanied by another. Their insults were almost all completely empty, but only almost. Oaklea, whether she meant to or not, had struck a very sore chord.

"I'm sure you'd know faltering mercy if you saw it."

It was silly enough, the kind of insult to expect from a vindictive mouse. It was hateful, designed to hurt, and as his brain kept telling him, that meant she regarded him as vulnerable to such infantile attacks, that he had succeeded in affecting the insecure, impressionable rat, the kind of child who would care what strangers thought of his moral character.

The feeling Maximillian told his unfeeling intellect to shove it, that it didn't understand, and that it should just leave him alone.

Oddly enough, Maximillian had always been prone to guilt when he killed alone. That, perhaps, was why he always sought after some master, some vermin lord to serve. When his idol, his love, his god commanded him to kill, it was immeasurable pleasure. When Max killed of his own accord, it still sang of the same succulent emotion, but there was a bitter aftertaste, a feeling of fear and filth that left him knowing he too would one day have his throat torn out by the roots, and, what was more, he deserved it.

Oaklea was obviously drawing off base assumptions, but the comment was so keenly aimed at Max's most aggravated emotional agony, that if rats had been capable of such, he probably would have blushed scarlet. Oaklea meant to sting him. She had succeeded. She had stung in the most tender of places, where a dagger was already dripping with his blood.

When she offered her paw, what was left of Maximillian's rational control panicked. He couldn't return the courtesy, not without ripping the arm out of its socket. The hate, before only abstract and rooted in general sadism, was so intensely focused on her now that he had to conciously, and painstakingly pretend to be frightened. Rage was increasingly the more powerful emotion, overpowering that terror which had before so frightfully overpowered Maximillian.

Rasthur provided a timely distraction. Refuting his arguments would calm Max, or so he thought. It would clear his breast of emotion, and remind him of the precarious situation he was in, the importance of carrying on as harmless, even, no... especially with Oaklea.

"Well wh-where would you have suggested, Rasthur?" he whimpered, pretending to be too distracted to notice Oaklea's courtesy, "The forest isn't exactly a... a..." He pretended to struggle for the word again, quite as realistically as when his linguistic abilities had really abandoned him, "...Well it's not a great place to hide, alright? It was hide here and risk death or try and take the... the rest, and face death directly. Yeah, I guess I killed one, but that was practically an accident, just a fluke of happening to have the sword in the right place at the right time. He lost his life, and took a..." he gestured to his bleeding arm. "I-I couldn't possibly have fought the rest, you must see that..."

"There. Stop. That explains the blood--most of it could come from the one you supposedly killed. It also points out that however dangerous the abbey is, it was more dangerous outside. If they ask about the one you killed, admit that it was a squirrel, and point them to the corpse, but just explain that he and his lackeys attacked for no just cause but your race, and that you can't stick to the vermin parts of the woods because they consider you a weakling, easy prey. It's true enough... Just, please, please, please, shut up."

All this went through the rat's head in a second, and in another second, it got its answer. "No." The heart had more to say, and emotion had always ruled the rat. The heart told him to kill; the brain merely told him how to kill.

"And... did you call me an assassin?" Oaklea's words floated back as though on the smoke of its last conflagration, her dry, spiteful voice. He had his own sense of dignity, even if it was one he had to lie to himself to protect, even if it tortured him every night he went without a master, and Oaklea and this fox had offended it. "That's just because I'm a rat who had to... to run? Well... W-what does that make you, fox?" he jabbed an accusing finger at the unseeing canine, "You know, you don't look like someone who's spent all his days sipping tea and teaching dibbuns to read." Stop. Please, you're insulting the person who, above all the others, seems to see us for exactly what we are. We'll lose our head. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP. "I suppose the creatures who gave you those scars deserved their fate infinitely more than the few this 'poor assassin' has supposedly killed? What was that you were rambling on about before I came out? A manifestation of your old guilt was it?" Please, at least work in some whimpering... a logical point? Anything to save your head? "Look at me! Do I look like I do alot of fighting?"

It was a fair enough point. Despite all his killings, he still looked almost like a mouse, and, excepting the blood, he extremely unthreatening in appearence, even effeminate in some ways.

"I can't help wh-what I am, what my kind are like..." The quiver returned, as he sunk to the ground, looking up wide-eyed. Rage is a bright flame that burns short, and when it goes out, it leaves behind a more fearful and empty creature than it had come upon. "Why would I travel to this part of the woods if the vermin of the wilds would take me? Why risk living among so many hostile woodlanders?" Whether he meant to show it or not, the pain Oaklea had inflicted came out in his miserable eyes, his hunched back, the way he suddenly looked lost. His quivering face no longer conveyed unbridled terror, but rational fear--the kind of fear that comes, especially in wide-eyed children, from the tearful, personal resentment of being hurt in the past, rather than the agony of anticipating hurt in the future.

In this posture, Maximillian regarded the stony-eyed group, his contemptuous audience, and noticed that Oaklea still had her paw loosely extended. A sudden idea lit up in the rat's head.

Softly and fearfully clutching the mouse's hand, he looked first to her eyes, then to Rasthur, and then back to her. "I... I'm sorry. I-I guess I was just..." He paused, and swallowed, giving him time to think. Once again, honesty seemed to be the ironic best course, "...I guess your point about my... my own... people's... NO... race's sense of honor, of mercy hit a little too close to home. Vermin are not kind folk to live with, but imagine living with them as family and, well if you can call them such, friends, while living as one of the damnable brood yourself. A-again though, I apologize for my outburst, my... rudeness.

"I'm Maximillian."


((Oi... ah... yeah, longish again ^^;; I'll work on that.

About the appearence though, if you look at Max's bio, you'll find that I didn't just make up the stuff about him being an effeminate rat.

Maximillian is out of place among his fellow rats. He looks more like a mouse, and an unusually cleanly one at that. His fur is mostly white, excepting a two slight black spots on the outer sides of his hind legs. The coat is soft, but silky, like that of a Dibbun which has just grown its mature coat. His whiskers are long, and unusually thick and white, so that they gleam, star-like, in the slightest light. As to his face, there are probably baby moles with more scars. It is thin, unimposing, almost delicate. Delicate is just the word for Maximillian. His whole body exudes humble civility. Even his tail, that hideous badge of rats everywhere, is a healthy pink, like his paws. A very fine layer of velvety hair cover both the paws and the tail.

))

[Wildrun]

((I'M ALIVE! *faints*

Oaklea: *faceplam* Garh. ))

Is this liar ever going to SHUT UP?

Her lips pressed into a thin line, Oaklea's only reply to Maximillian's rant, after waiting a moment to see if anything else was forth coming (but mostly o give the impression that she had the entire fate of the situation in her paws, which she did not), was to smile a chilly, quick smile and say mildly,

"Welcome to Redwall."

The red lights in the back of her mind were flashing at a measured, patterned pace, but there was no siren, no schreech of rage or adrenaline. Not yet, anyway. Just a moment ago--she couldn't have read him wrong--there had been a flash of something so utterly opposite of fear or hospitality in the rat's eyes that it could only be hate. Logical, illogical, hate always looked to same to someone who knew it well; to someone who had felt it before. A stab of hot emotion rose up for a brief moment--

then the hate in his eyes was gone, as quickly as it had come, as the rat had refocused on Rasthur. No matter. Oaklea was positive. What she had said had scored her a point; what she had said had earned her a foe who felt real hate--not petty hate that Painted Ones and other woodland smalltimers aimed at her. Without warning, she flashed another smile--this time, her lips curled back a little farther, showing a part of her canines. This smile, or facial expression resembling one, stayed in place longer. This smile looked savage, almost goading, and to accompany it her brown eyes wer like chips of glowing ice in the darkness Hardly a moment had passed since she had 'welcomed' Max into Redwall; now, Oaklea waved her tail in a friendly manner and added briefly,

"We're happy to have you here."

Let's see how long you stay.

((short, pointless--forgive meeeeeeee.

Oaklea: NEVARRR~

Me: ...Help. ^^" ))

[William]

(William: *Smacks Oaklea's ear* Be nice now, its because of her that your here o.O
Me:*Draped asleep on a English essay* -.-
Slitty: *Snickers as he steals the car keys and dashes off to go joy-riding*=D)

William just stood back as the others kicked at the rat with their words, their barbs, their jests about him. He just stood back and thought, listing off the problems with the rat and his story slowly in his mind.
-Being able to scamper up a tree and then jump onto the walls. Not as easy as maybe jumping a low table. Creatures that could do a task like that, as apparently injured as this rat was....Highly suspect.
-Being able to still walk if all that blood was his, Will had seen enough blood and pain in his life to know how much a body could take, and this was pushing it.
-His claim that because of his appearance that he wasn't a threat.....Yeah right. The slave captain that had tortured Will and his friends in the mine had been a mouse. Most would have called him handsome if they didn't know what he really did. Appearance meant nothing, the fact that he kept bringing it up was curious to Will.
Absent mindly setting a paw on his sword hilt as these three main reasons slowly spun around in his head Will blinked a few times. This slightly cleared his mind and let him just see the rat shake Oaklea's paw, so at least he was calm enough not to freak out. This helped his case a little, but overall Will still didn't trust this Maximillian. To many problems surrounded him...But Will would accept him into the abbey for now, but he would be watching very closely.
"Indeed, and were glad that you were able to get here before the others, after we're done with Rasthur we can find accommodations for you."

[Rasthur Grassrunner]

((I accidentally closed my browser just as I was about the post -_-. Lame.))

"Well wh-where would you have suggested, Rasthur?"

A wry, all knowing smile slowly spread across the fox's face,
"Yes, since I am adept at seeking aid." Every feature on his bristling features was straight, the mocking undertone was invisible to the eyes but clear enough for the ears - he was sarcastic, in a tone normally reserved for dibbuns or those who were a little slow,
"Now, this is my opinion, but I would have tried, the gate." His face was as stern as ever, his lips moving slowly as they normally did, had his eyes been visible, they would have likely betrayed no intention or mockery - but it was all in the sound of his voice.

If it were possible for him to close his eyes in exasperation he would have, as he sighed wearily, he was growing impatient with this creature's meagre excuses. Killing was no accident. If you had a weapon, you had the intent to hurt - that was the sole purpose of having a weapon. Death was only at the end of the spectrum that was pain.

He opened his mouth to belittle the rat further, to express his disbelief on the matter, after all, he was armed. But no voice came out, he realised the sheer hypocrisy of it all. After all, he had likely claimed more lives than everyone present - combined. But this wasn't a boast, a claim to fame or even a badge of honour, it was a burden of shame.

A debt that weighed upon his shoulders more than any brick in the Abbey, more than any rock that he could carry. He had felt that life and existence was not a right, it was a fickle privilege and it had to be earned, in blood.

And earned it he did...


"That's just because I'm a rat who had to... to run? Well... W-what does that make you, fox?" he jabbed an accusing finger at the unseeing canine, "You know, you don't look like someone who's spent all his days sipping tea and teaching dibbuns to read."




Rasthur felt his ears prick as he unconsciously broke the perpetual cycle of his frown. Shifting through his limited palette of emotions, first off, was amusement and contemplation. Indeed, that was quite a conclusion that the rat had drawn upon, he could barely recall a moment in his life where he knew peace. And what did it make him? Were all the teachings of honour and blood real? Had he earned a place in the after-life by proving his superiority over the reaper, the Dark Forest and the Hell-Gates?

He had no more time to even reach an answer, for his face shifted emotions once again, this time into anger, guilt and denial.

"I suppose the creatures who gave you those scars deserved their fate infinitely more than the few this 'poor assassin' has supposedly killed? What was that you were rambling on about before I came out? A manifestation of your old guilt was it?"

His dry lips curled back into a fierce snarl, the already deep frown lines at the fringe of his blindfold deepened into canyons, his muzzle crinkled into a sea of cresses as he felt the fur on his neck raise in primal rage - Maximillian had touched a very, very sensitive spot.

Words eventually came out of his mouth, sound that was different from a growl, sound that was decipherable, barely louder than a whisper,

"I have been forever robbed of the light. I awake to find phantoms and voices of the past ringing in my ears. My nose smells only blood from battles long past. And you think that they didn't deserve their fate?"

He spat out in a flurry of rage, under all his talk of redemption, repentance and demented pacifism, Rasthur did not regret his final act of sin, sure he had taken their lives, sure had butchered innocents for little more than the demented religion of his tribe - but he felt he had given them more than a fair trade.

He would never change his story, for the scars upon his body were the pages and the blood on his paws were the ink. All of it was bound together by his blindfolded eyes.


"Look at me! Do I look like I do alot of fighting?"

Assassins are not warriors. There is no honour and blood. There is only the poisonous lies of their tongues and their iron grip on the shadows - Rasthur could not see this whimpering beast, but he was already convinced that even in his old age, he was more of a fighter than this...Rat.

Vermin are not kind folk to live with, but imagine living with them as family and, well if you can call them such, friends, while living as one of the damnable brood yourself. A-again though, I apologize for my outburst, my... rudeness.


That was the first truth that he had felt reach his ears during his entire encounter with this bizarre creature. There was a strong pang of guilt in his stomach as his childhood flashed through his mental eye. At least, Maximillian had the decency to apologise for his outburst - but Rasthur would not forgive him, forgiveness was for the weak and naive, no, it could not be achieved with words.

He snorted softly, with a light 'hmph'. Which was as close as he would ever come to saying, 'Welcome.'.

Indeed, and were glad that you were able to get here before the others, after we're done with Rasthur we can find accommodations for you.

"Ohoho indeed..." It was hard to discern whether his chuckle was nervous or just plain sarcastic, but underneath all the rough grey fur, he felt the blood leave his cheeks slowly.

[Wildrun]

((Dammit I wish I had time to post. No one move on without me. Tomorrow at the latest I'll have something up. Hopefully it will be exceptable and I apologize [in any language I can] for my AWOL-ness. Where's taht school-targeting, test-detroying, class-passing missle I invented earlier?))

[Yves]

(((Butbutbut... isn't it my turn?


And uh, yeah, if it is my turn... what Wildrun said *flees*)))

[Wildrun]

((Dang, it is your turn. I've lost my marbles. as anyone seen them?

...Go ahead, Yves. ^^" ))

[Yves]

((So, after final exams and a 9 day vacation, I'm FINALLY able to update this. I'm very, very, very sorry for holding you guys up for so long!!

))

And so Maximillian was safely ensconced. There was no question about his security, however unwelcome he may have been. But as the others forgot him and turned their attention back to Rasthur's recent apoplexy, the old guilt—that damned contrition that had made him useless to any horde—pierced the rat's flesh. He saw in every face a victim, not unlike the last creature who me his wrath.

Under the pale face of the moon, swept over by the harsh winter air, harassed by the night's scavengers, a squirrel's corpse was returning to the Earth. In a few minutes, a squirrel-maid would find it. She would wail her loss—for the life she might have had, for the children she would now raise alone, for the world now bereft of an honest and good creature. And the moon would shine down as cold as ever, as indifferent as the biting wind.

Maximillian saw the squirrel again, that mass of fur and teeth, now a woodlander, strong and determined to defend its nest, and then a victim, pitiful in its whimpering. If the rat did not die, that would be the fate of every one of these creatures, from the mightiest fox to the lowest mouse. Oaklea would be the first—there would be little guilt there.

"But wait!" Max's brain suddenly engaged and cut in on this sentimentality, "Nest? The squirrel had a nest? Yes, yes it did. I remember laughing at it, thinking about how the children would starve. Then our ramblings about this squirrel-maid is not mere fantasy. She did see the murder, she knows who you are, and she is in desperate need of help. Where do you suppose she'll go for that help?"

Maximillian lost himself for a moment, and in that moment ejaculated a very loud, "Oh God!"

[William]

(Welcome back Yves . I beleive its Wildruns turn, but I'll slap somthing together if she doesn't post in a day or two.
*Slips and falls on Wildruns marbels*)

[William]

(So sorry for the wait guys, I have no excuse )

Temporarily distracted from the rat as he stood there he looked back at Rasthur as the rat and him traded blows. Blows to the mind a soul, the worst kind, for those are the ones that can't be simply 'healed' by herbs and medicine.
But eventually they stopped, and Will could finally do what he had woken up so early to find out in the first place. Seeing the Rasthur still had a tight hold of..whatever it was, probably without even knowing it, Will smiled.
"Now Rasthur, would you please tell us again what you saw..in your mind, and what you arOH GOD!"
Looking back to see the rat starring in horror at nothing Will raised an eyebrow. "Whats wrong with you?" He asked bluntly as a very quiet wail seem to drift over the walls on the wind...

(That Ok Yves? Or do you want the squirrel-maid to come in later?)