Open the Gate!

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

Farrel staggered down the path to redwall. He had run non-stop since leaving redclaw camp, and was on his endurance limits. He saw the gate, and staggered up to it. Reaching it, he pounded on it and cried allowed.

"Open the gates! I am wounded and sick here! Please, for the love of life, open the gates!"

[Tirael]

Brush was, as usual, walking the walltops, scanning the woods for anyone who might endanger the abbey he now called home. His ears perked at the sound of yelling; bounding to the east ramparts, he saw, of all things, a pine marten pounding on the main gates. Striding to the walltop closest to this visitor, he observed him unnoticed. He wasn't lying; he did look to be in need of help. Slipping away, Brush hurried down the stairs and beckoned two abbeydwellers, a mouse and an otter, to come over. "There's a marten outside that gate. Grab yourselves a stave each, we need to make sure there's no funny business."

In a few moments, they were all standing by the gate, the two "volunteers" with staves and Brush gripping his own javelin. Nodding to them, they hurriedly unlocked the gate. Pushing it open a small ways, Brush pulled Farrel in and closed the gate again. As the other two locked it, he said, "Alright, we opened the gate. Now may be a good time for you to explain exactly what it is that's goin' on." He wasn't taking any chances with this one. Injured or not, he was vermin, something that gave the squirrel pause.

[Vikenti Whitedeath]

Merce Whitedeath, traveling mercenary, was in a good mood. But then, when wasn't he? He walked jauntily down the path whistling a merry tune. Ahead of him on the path, he saw a wounded martin, who was quickly pulled in the gates. Coming before the gates, he stopped. "Hello in there," he called out merrily, "any-beast home!"

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

"My name, is Farrel Foeslayer. I am a marten warrior of the tribe of Strongtail. I was in a battel against a vermin hoard and I've got an arrow in my gut. I fixed it for now, But I need a real doctor. Despite my appearance, I am no vermin coward you fear. I live to kill them, and keep mossflower safe, But I need help now please. Do you have a doctor?"

[Griffin]

Michael Griffin, or Griff to his friends, sat watching the whole scene unfold from under an aspen tree this time, scowling up at the branches with their fluttering leaves.

Ever since he'd fallen out of that one tree, he had been careful never to climb one again. His arm was violently throbbing from his last encounter, and broken in one place, wrapped with leaves, pond mud, aspen bark, and whatever else the otter could scavenge from his surroundings; still his other paw held his reliable wooden staff, scuffed and scratched but useable.

My name, is Farrel Foeslayer. I am a marten warrior of the tribe of Strongtail.

Sorting through the information in his brain, Griff vaguely remembered a marten warrior that looked almost the same, clad in a flowing black cloak and wielding two longswords...

The rat was advancing, with his two friends at either side, a weasel and a stoat. The river otter was backing up, holding his staff for protection as the three beasts held their cutlasses up, snarling and laughing, ready to attack their latest victim. Griff closed his eyes.

Then a marten jumped in front of him, ears laid back, with two longswords ready, one in each paw. The three vermin charged him, but stood no chance-the pine marten eliminated them all in short order. Griff managed to stand up and mutter, 'Thanks for that.'

The marten glanced back at him, nodding. As he sheathed his longswords and turned around to leave, the otter could have sworn he'd heard his helper's voice in his ears, still ringing in his head.

'Save the fighting for the warriors, riverdog.'

Griff came to the conclusion that the pine marten wasn't all bad and struggled to his feet, calling out in a loud, clear voice.

'The marten speaks truth.'

[Tirael]

Brush listened as the marten (apparently named Farrel) spilled out his story. A thought nagged in the back of his head; somewhere he had heard about a pine marten in Mossflower...he struggled to find that memory as Farrel finished his story and asked for a doctor. Turning to the mouse, he said, "Go get Tirael. Hurry now!" The mouse nodded and hurried off, glad to have something to do besides stand there and look like he posed some kind of threat to anybeast.

'The marten speaks truth.'

Brush turned to look at the otter. "You know him, Griff?" Hardly expected, but the squirrel had learned to take odd coincidence in his stride. At that point, the mouse came running back with Tirael in his wake. The otter healer bounded up to the group and looked from Farrel to Griff to Brush. "Somebeast needed a healer?"

"Hello in there, any-beast home!"

Brush whipped his gaze to the gate. Running back up the stairs to the walltop, he looked down and saw a weasel standing below.

"Hello. Now who might you be?" he called to the figure below. No reason not to be civil, but the fact that he was the second person calling at the gates who usually would be considered 'vermin' made Brush more than a little concerned.

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

((Griff, He has two longswords, not a sabre))

"Please,I do not wish to be a bother, But I am in terrible pain, would you mind attending to my wounds?"

[Griffin]

((Revising))

You know him, Griff?

'Aye,' came the river otter's response. 'From a long while off, but I can still remember.'

Not sure what he could be doing at this point but tapping his footpaws, Griff tightened his hold around the staff and focused his attention on Brush until the squirrel warrior spoke again, this time extremely confused, it sounded like.

Hello. Now who might you be?

Griff nearly tripped over his own footpaws as he spun around to observe the new arrival. A young weasel, not older than nineteen, with snow white fur and pink eyes, wearing a coat and wielding a various assortment of weapons. A bow, arrows, daggers, a dirk, and a white sword. Now he was getting more than a little panicked; what was with all of these 'vermin', good or bad as they might be?

He tried to calm himself, but this weasel had a sword, and a large collection of weapons.

He'd spent a day and a night in the branches of a maple tree before his accident. He'd observed the beasts walking on the path, not that far apart from each other. The first one was a cream-furred mouse.

It'd stopped to pick a few of the blackberries that grew on either side of the trail-a fatal mistake. Following behind him was a stoat, clad from head to toe in weapons; bow, arrows, daggers, two swords, whip, stone knife. Immidately, the stoat had drawn the knife and thrown it at the mouse. The blade went between the beast's shoulder blades.

Griff couldn't do anything but watch the mouse bleeding, the stoat laughing as it brought out its whip, thrashing it against the mouse's back until the creature's struggles ceased and it lay lifeless in a pool of blood. Griff had been so angry he'd thrown his staff at the stoat's head as hard as he could.

The stoat died shortly after.

Griff held his wooden staff up, ready if anything were to happen, as he'd decided that was the best course of action.

[Vikenti Whitedeath]

Merce smiled at the squirrel on the wall tops. "I am Jiles Oakpaw," he lied calmly, "a lost traveler. May I have shelter in your famed Abbey?" His smile, though friendly, was not completely trustworthy.

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

"Please kind sirs, I need medical attention now!" Farrell gasped the few the words out
His wounds where on fire now, infection was setting in. He n\knew if he got no doctor soon, death would claim him.

[Griffin]

I am Jiles Oakpaw...

Griff's ears pressed flat on his skull. The weasel was obviously an experienced liar, but the river otter knew this Jiles beast was decieving him; the next words only served to make him more convinced.

...a lost traveler. May I have shelter in your famed Abbey?

No vermin in the history of the universe-or maybe of the Abbey of Redwall-had ever lived there with good intentions, except perhaps a searat whose name Griff had forgotten. There was a ferret, two stoats, and a rat who had been nothing but trouble, and he knew the ferret at least by name. He was sort of famous.

Veil Sixclaw, son of Swartt Sixclaw the Warlord. Veil had poisoned a beast from the Abbey, then almost killed the two that were following him a number of times. At the end, nobeast knew if he had ever been good or vermin. He had saved a future Abbess of Redwall from a javelin, giving his own life in the process.

'He's lying,' Griffin nearly screamed at the top of his lungs while trying to find a way to stay out of bow range. In the end, he backed up a few steps, disappearing into the bushes and reappearing by the pine marten. He glanced once more at the weasel's face and found a fake smile plastered there. His attention was then diverted by the marten's shout, for it hadn't realized he was there.

Please kind sirs, I need medical attention now!

'Just open the damn gate,' the otter hissed at Brush. 'Let the marten in and we'll deal with the weasel.'

[Tirael]

[]

"I am Jiles Oakpaw," he lied calmly, "a lost traveler. May I have shelter in your famed Abbey?"

Brush narrowed his eyes. He placed no trust in this weasel, finding his tone and his smile very snake-like. Of course, he had no solid fact to base this on, but his gut feelings weren't usually off by much. He turned his head towards Griffin as the otter yelled.

"He's lying."

I can tell that much, Brush thought to himself, but said nothing. Instead, he called down to 'Jiles': "Stay right there. If you have any weapons, I expect you to drop them before either of these gates is open." Staring at the weasel, he added, "Don't let me find any on you." He then descended the stairs, and grabbed up his javelin.

"Just open the damn gate."

Brush shot Griff a glare, and paused for a moment. "Show a little respect for your elders, Griffin. And watch the language." He liked the otter, but sometimes he got too much of an attitude, something the squirrel had no intention of allowing to develop. Handing him a stave, he said, "Here, watch him while I make sure he's not up to anything." With that, he unbarred the gate and stepped out.
___________________________________

"Please kind sirs, I need medical attention now!"

Tirael said, "That's why I'm here." Briefly inspecting Farrel's wound, he shook his head and said, "It's pretty bad. I can do something, I think, but you need to come with me to the infirmary." In his mind, he already began to run through what he was going to have to do; it wouldn't be pretty, and it would be incredibly difficult, but he could do it.

At least, he thought he could...

[[Farrel, do you mind if we head up to the infirmary in a new thread or something? Tir can't do much in the grounds...]]

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

((Sure, I'll go make it))

[Vikenti Whitedeath]

"If you wish good sir!" said Merce as he began dropping his weapons. After dropping the visible armament, he reached up his sleeves, pulling out hidden daggers in sheaths, and into his coat, where an array of knives and poisons were hidden. 5 beasts probably could have been armed with all the weapons he dropped. "You make take them all," Merce suddenly became fierce, "but make sure I get them all back, or there will be hell to pay." In a second, he was back to his former happy self.

[dirgecallers]

Lentle was still very much in pain. Curse that rabbit for deserting him when he obviously would not have been able to walk well on his own! The staff was a suitable cane, for a short walk, but even then it was painful. Now, it seemed he had gone many miles limping throughout the forest. He would be an obvious target if anyone was that way inclined and he knew it.

It did not escape his notice that presently he has moved onto a path. If he managed to follow this route, it would lead somehwere he could find aid. Hours passed, and the path led the wounded ermine out of the trees into a clearing. Looking up, he could plainly see a large red sandstone buildingsmack dab in the middle of the path. Lentle knew of this building, and how fortuitious it was that he should stumble upon it.

Even better, the front gate was apparently attended. From this distance, he could see what appeared to be a weasel standign in front of the gates, demanding admission. Confronting him, though was a burly shape resembling an otter upon the walltops. Lentle decided to press forth in his efforts anyways. It might have been a futile gesture though, who knew if the redwallers had already fufilled ther 'vermin' quota for the day?

Through painful efforts, Lentle did manage to limp his way to the front of the gates. He was not pleased to see that it was indeed an otter on the walltops. The otter was glaring murderously at Lentle, and for his part the ermine was not at all surprised by this. He kept a beasts length away from the weasel, for he knew not whether he would resent another beast supplicating the same petition.

He held the quarterstaff tight with both hands as he spoke, to keep from falling. "My name is Lentle Dirge, and I ask for aid for I have sustained a grievious injury." Lentle moved the quarterstaff away for a time, so that the otter could observe the extent his leg was damaged. "I understand that a request of this nature would be looked upon as suspicious, so let me clarify. Where I come from, few have ever traveled to the shores of Mossflower. I realize that my country has not has the best....relations with Redwall, so I wish to state here that I am not a warrior by trade, nor was that my intention in arriving here. I have petitioned merely for aid, and am willing to surrendermy weapon and put myself at your mercy."


(done)

[Shadess]

Apples of apples, chatting of chantings, boring of boring. That was Shadowsleek Shadeseeker's motto. Particularly, it seemed like a vermin grouping to her! Not only that, but she sensed the goody goody toe-shoes kind, or in other words, GOOD vermin who didn't steal, plunder etc etc etc.
The black female weasel was lying lazily in a tree, arms sagging down one side with her long curved sword swinging back and forth. Her skinny body fit the curve of the branch almost perfectly.
" Tah de dum, " she sang, as she always did when she was bored, tired or anything motterly close " Is this a gathering I see? hm If you want to get in this junk of red bricks, I'd suggest going in one by one or they'll think there under attack! Or anyways they WIILL be under attack soon, with the Redclaw horde, Tataroos horde and that other horde I forget the name of...." She didn't bother and try and remember the name, yet what bothered her was that she probably wasn't putting out a good reputation to these beasts. She really seemed like some ;asy slug who wasted life away instead of a sneaky theif! Well her body did prove she didn't snore her day away in a tree. Just to make sure she wasn't going chunky, she pinched her hip and flicked her tail. Still good.

Then another thought stroke her, wonderful! She just named off all three hordes, stupied stuiped stuiped...now Redwall would never let these vermin folk in, well who cared? Good vermin didn't belong did they? The black weasel decided it would be best to scram soon and get back to St. Ninains.......

[Vikenti Whitedeath]

Merce quickly moved toward where Shaddess was sitting. Crouching down next to her he said in a horse whisper, "keep your voice down! If you and your pretty horde want to get into the Abbey, I can arrange that. Once I am in opening a gate will be easy, for a sum." With a grin he strode back toward the wall. As an Abbey-dweller took his weapons, he entered the Abbey, several beasts watching the untrustworthy weasel closely. He smiled back at them, with a grin that while cheerful, was disturbing.

(If it is not right to say he was let in Abbey just tell me. Because no-one is saying come in or something I just had him walk in.)

[Tirael]

Brush eyed Merce suspiciously as he was brought into the abbey. He took a mouse aside and murmured, "I want guards on the walltops while he's around, especially by the gates. If he so much as thinks of making a wrong move, I want him out of the Abbey. Got it?" The mouse nodded and went off to carry out the squirrel's order.

Turning to Lentle, who had been let in with Merce, he said, "The infirmary's in the main building over there. Rila here will show you the way," indicating a strong female otter. She was a useful beast to have around; sharp and strong. He watched the two go off, then spoke to Merce. "And you? What is it you need?" He hated having to be hospitable to someone he could easily tell was wicked, but he had no choice. After all, Merce had come to Redwall, not a fortress or castle. But it wasn't defenseless; no, Brush would see to that.

[Vikenti Whitedeath]

"I am a humble traveler," said Merce, "I have heard much of your famed Abbey, and its excellent food. I have come to rest from my travels, I have come from the far south." This was partly true, he did want to taste their food, but he had no were to go and no were to travel. "So squirrel," said Merce, "what do you do around this Abbey, I can see you are no Brother."

[Zed(Nel Zellphyer)]

Zed was climbing in the treetops before seeing the Abbey, and eyeing Brush from afar, "Hrm, ok, looks like I might not want to enter, yet. For they have Vermin there, And I Know they could see me as a target and beat me up..."
He sighed once more and hung his head even lower as he wandered back toward St.Ninians, He saw a black weasel going the same way he was. He knew he was going to get beaten up by the weasel, But he didn't care, He wasn't so sure about the Abbey anymore, So nothing mattered to him much more...