Now Hiring (Tarlish, open)

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

Tarlish was bloody happy when the patrol finally got back underway. Once the mousemaid was assuredly back on her feet and going to be alright, they kicked off.It took him a while to get used to the logboat and the oaring, but once he did he found himself helping the gang of shrews send the vessel gliding merrily through the river.

The boats were surprisingly smooth going considering their rough appearance, and even Tarlish who wasn't much of a water-going beast found it to be a rather pleasant ride down the river Moss. Insects lazily buzzing in the air, trout and dace breaking the surface to snatch a buzzing morsel or two, and the sunlight leisurely dancing across the sparkling waters all made for a very enjoyable and serene trip. Although Tarlish was still on guard as always.

The sun was in its final stage of daylight by the time they landed and made camp. Leaving a few Guosim behind to guard the logboats, the rest of the group kept up on their way Tarlish had to admit that this was a rather extensive operation for a patrol, that they would go so far from the main camp was a bit curious to the assassin.

"That ye firs' time inna logboat, Tarlish?"

Tarlish's ears perked at the Guosim chiefs question. He turned to Nik to answer.

"Aye, I rarely take boats, and never logboats before. Stick to the trees mostly, it is slower going but one is far too exposed on the river for my tastes."

[Django]

"Aye, I rarely take boats, and never logboats before. Stick to the trees mostly, it is slower going but one is far too exposed on the river for my tastes."

Nik raised an eyebrow, then he shrugged and nodded. "Fair 'nuff," the Logalog replied, brushing aside a branch from his path. He kept silent as they moved further from the camp, and the shrew fighters followed suit. Though they were by no means masters of stealth, they were able to move through the woods with minimal noise.

The evening rays of sunlight slashed almost horizontally through the trees of Mossflower. Luckily, the Guosim and their companion were not traveling west. The sounds of birds and other small creatures preparing for bed filled the air.

Nik heard a rustle and made a signal for the fighters to halt. The shrews crouched almost in unison, looking for the source of the disturbance. Suddenly, an owl swooped by overhead, and Nik allowed himself to relax a little. An owl was a threat, but not vermin. Once the bird had passed, the Guosim resumed their trek, keeping a wary eye out for danger.

The Logalog fell in step beside the marten again. Glancing up at the bigger creature, he noticed a tiny spider crawling up Tarlish's shoulder. Nik tapped the marten's arm with the hilt of a knife. "Spider on ya, mate," he murmured.

((Yeah, I know. This post sucks. Sorry.))

[Promatera]

(Gah late! D:)

After resting and eating, Dandelion started to feel strong enough to being walking again. However, her strength was still drained so she remained with the Guosim. As the patrol left, Dandelion found herself in bed again staring at the roof of the infirmary.

The shrews had proven to be trustworthy enough, especially after what they had done for her. Yet she still could not bring herself to trust the vermin that the shrews had employed. There was no such thing as a good vermin and in her opinion, it would serve them well to just die.

There was some more food that had been left at her bedside as the nurses tended to other patients. She took a bite and wished she could devour the whole plate then and there, but she remembered that one of the nurses had told her that she needed to carefully eat or she would be deathly ill. She knew better then to argue with someone who had knowledge of healing.

Right now Dandelion needed to focus on recovering her strength. Once she felt better, then she could return to her quest for Redwall. Perhaps if luck were on her side she may even be able to receive help from the shrews. She felt a glimmer of hope begin to light her dark and cold insides. What if she was nearing the end of her journey? For the first time in ages a small smile formed on her lips.

(Sorry this is late XD Keeping Dandy back should help keep things rolling for you two)

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

Tarlish was fairly impressed with the Guosim's woodsmanship. Although far from quietly, they moved silently enough to bypass any beast not paying much attention. Staying just at Nik's side, he moved silently along. His ears and eyes were scanning constantly, looking for any trace of possible threat.

Tarlish wasn't sure how long exactly they walked for, but he did notice the early signs of the evening chill descending on them. The sounds of night accompanied these, with birds flapping off to their nests and the not-so-distant sound of crickets fiddling in the woods-

At the sign from Logalog everyone dropped down at once. Tensing up, he reached for his sword. There was no sound as the owl glided over head, specter of the night. It passed, and the patrol slowly rose back to its feet. Tarlish moved on, Nik falling in behind. There was a tap on his shoulder, a word from Logalog, and Tarlish turned to find himself staring into the face of evil itself.

With a shriek of terror, he jumped two feet in the air, swatting insanely at his shoulder, then bolting up into the tree with lightning speed where he stayed, stuttering in horror, eyes wide open.

[Django]

In the past, Nik had brushed spiders off his own shoulders and the shoulders of his fighters. Every time he'd done so, the person the spider was riding had looked at it, said, "Oh, thanks, mate," and either let Nik brush it away or brushed it away themselves. Never in his life had Nik seen anybeast react the way Tarlish just had. Why was exactly why the Logalog hadn't been expecting such a reaction.

The marten screamed, beat at his shoulder, and then proceeded to climb a tree as fast as all four limbs (and his tail, it seemed) could get him up the trunk. Nik and the rest of the patrol were understandable startled at this reaction, and a few of the shrews, Nik included, gathered beneath the tree. Tarlish was cowering on a branch, eyes wide as saucers.

Thinking quickly, the Logalog ordered in a murmur, "Everybeast git down 'til I can calm our friend, eh?" The shrews obeyed without a word, taking cover in the underbrush in case something unsightly had heard Tarlish's outcry.

Nik called up into the branches, "Somethin' a' matter, mate? Was jus' a wee spider, y'know. Nothin' t' panic about." Although the chieftain had to admit that had been funny, he was slightly concerned for the bigger creature. If spiders set Tarlish off this badly, maybe it hadn't been a good idea to bring him on the patrol . . .

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

((BAD FARREL! BAD FARREL!))

Idiot, blood fool you are. This is NOT the time and place for irrational terrors. You've ignored the little devils before, you can do it again. Tarlish breathed in slowly, then exhaled likewise, doing this three times. Slowly, and trying to scrape up any scraps of dignity he had left, he slid down the tree, trying not to shake. Casually brushing off his shoulder, he didn't bother looking at Logalog.

"Bloody creatures, caught me by surprise, that's all. Now we'd best get a move on." Without another word, he vanished into the bush in front of them, making his way onwards.

[Django]

Nik's confusion rose with his eyebrows as Tarlish tried to redeem himself. Soooo, the spider was or wasn't scary? The shrew decided to let it go and signaled for the rest of the patrol to fan out as he hurried after the marten.

"Keep in partners, mates," he hissed along the ranks, "Signal if ye fin' anythin'."

The shrew fighters did as they were bade, slipping into the dimming woodlands. Nik drummed his pads on the hilt of his blade, sharp eyes peeled for any sight of vermin. He and Tarlish made good and, more importantly, silent progress through the forest. Evening had planted its paws firmly in the day by now, the twilit air suddenly becoming gray and hazy.

Nik hated this part of the day. He felt like he was either coming down with a headache, or somebeast had lit a particularly smokey fire. Still, he'd been on patrols with far more vision obstructions, so this wasn't any big bother. Just annoying in its small way.

That was when he heard a noise. He held his arm in Tarlish's way, a clear indication for the marten to stop. Perking his ears, the shrew listened closely. Was it just the wind? Leaves rustling in the breeze? A bird on its way to bed?

No, it was pawsteps. And close by. Nik crouched, indicating that Tarlish do the same. Then the vermin walked by. Spear in paw, hunched back, head darting this way and that like an aggravated hawk's. She was a ferret, lithe in build and scarred to the point that Nik couldn't tell if she had any smooth skin left. The Logalog thought she must either be a sentry or a hunter.

Nik felt the marten tense up beside him. The shrew quickly grabbed Tarlish's arm, giving an almost imperceptible shake of his head. They didn't know if the vermin was alone or not. She could be guarding a whole horde of evil beasts. Either way, Nik had to warn his patrol. Cupping his paws around his mouth, he made several calls of what could easily pass as a whippoorwill's song.

That was his mistake. The ferret, now several paces away from where the shrew and marten hid, suddenly paused. Her head swung in their direction like an owl's, eyes locking with Nik's through the undergrowth. He inwardly cursed, paw on his blade. She turned and crept toward them, spear held out for defense. The Logalog debated attacking or running to find the rest of the patrol. He hoped Tarlish didn't have any bright ideas--where did Tarlish go?

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

Tarlish was not in the mood to say anything for a good few hours, so he didn't. He stalked quietly through the woods with the shrew, admiring the short beasts impressive woods-craft. As the day edged on and the hot sun began to recede into the distance, Tarlish began thinking it might be fine for him to try and regain his dignity, or at least talk again. Quietly shifting between the lower branches and the forest floor, he melted in and out of view of the dense brush.

The air seemed thick now, heavy with moisture from the river, and the dying sunlight combined to make a smoky sort of hue that permeated the air, making the oppressive feeling of the humidity against his fur seem all the more greater. This was one of the nasty parts of summer, especially with such recent rainfall.

Sliding out of the trees once again to take to his footpaws, Tarlish suddenly stopped just as Nik motioned him to do so. Nodding in his direction, Tarlish ceased movement completely, blending into the foliage like a phantom. He knew the sound, the crunching of leafs under concentrated pressure. Too patterned for wind, maybe a bird? No, too heavy.

She came into view then, gripping a spear and looking the worse for wear. A ferret, and she was alone. Tarlish unconsciously began to tense at the thought of a kill, just to have Nik's surprisingly strong grip shake him back to reason. She can't be alone, she must be part of a gang or a band. With barely a whisper, he snaked up into the trees, vanishing as Nik let out a bird call to his troop.

Quietly balancing on a thick branch, Tarlish looked down and saw the consequences of Niks action. The ferret was now staring at the shrews hiding spot. Moving forward with a degree of caution rarely seen in vermin, she closed in on Nik's position, spear extended. She's seen him, or will in a second. Tarlish surmised, then acted quickly.

The thin grass rope he carried with him was out in a flash, and with an expert toss, dropped down, the noose landing directly over the ferrets neck. Before she could make a noise, she was rocketed upwards with a muffled gag, dropping the spear. Yanking her up, her eyes bewildered, he delivered a sharp knock to the side of her head, stunning her. Within seconds he had pulled the noose off, hog-tied her and threw her over his shoulder, jumping down next to Logalog with a thud.

Ignoring the astonished looks from the shrews, he quickly shoved her up against a tree and pinned her rough tunic to the trunk with a dagger. A quick slap to the cheek brought her out of her stunned state, and her eyes widened as she took her situation in. Eyeing Tarlish, she growled and spat at him.

"Who in 'ellsteeth are ya! And wot be y-" Tarlish brought his left paw heavily down on her shoulder, staring her coldly in the eyes.

"Where you're band, who are you with? Tell me this quickly and all will be painless." He said flatly. She regarded him with narrow glare, then spat in his face, a mocking look on her scarred mug .

"Go rot marten." She sneered. Tarlish didn't move for a second, then traced his right paw up around her ear, stroking it for a second. Then, in one fluid movement, he ripped it clean off. The ferret began to let out an agonized scream, but her mouth was immediately clamped shut by Tarlish. Blood spilling from the torn wound, he let her scream against his paw for a moment before withdrawing it. Tears spilling from her contorted face, she spat raggedly at him.

"Burn! To hell with you and your filthy hide you dam-" She stopped at once as Tarlish fingered her other ear, terror in her eyes.

"Once more. Where is your band, who are you with? If not, where are the nearest bands of your kind you know of? Speak truth and this will be painless." He said once more, coldly and professionally.

[Django]

Nik could understand disarming the vermin, interrogating her, and even roughing her up a bit. But wounding that drastically without cause would no longer fly in his book. The Logalog was momentarily stunned when the vermin's ear came off, but he never remained stunned for long. 

The rest of the patrol could only watch in shocked silence as a visible aura of anger flared up around their leader. He bared his teeth, sinewy paws clenched into fists as he took two big steps up to Tarlish. Drawing one fist back to his ear, he landed a wallop of a punch to the marten's eye, effectively knocking the bigger creature away from the ferret.  

Green eyes flashing with leashed fury, Nik stepped between the vermin and the marten. He turned to one of his fighters, "Caj, bandages. Now." A taller shrew in a white headband nodded and dug in his bag of scant medical supplies for a length of bandages for the ferret's head. 

That being taken care of, the Logalog sent a venomous glare at Tarlish, debating whether another blow could be thrown before the marten regained his senses. But Nik forced himself to stay calm. He'd deal with Tarlish later. 

Once Caj had finished his work and the ferret had stopped blubbering, two Guosim shrews heaved her onto her feet again and held her securely before their chief. He crossed his arms and regarded her with a scowl. Though the angered expression was mostly aimed at Tarlish. 

"A'right, ferret," Nik began curtly. "I'm not the type t' mutilate widout reason, unlike me mate 'ere." He sent a meaningful glare to the marten, then turned back to the vermin. "But 'f ye don't cooperate, yew won't like me anymore'n y' like him, so less make this easy on ye, eh?" 

Quick as a flash, his blade was at her throat, his eyes boring into hers. She flinched, her eyes widening as his narrowed dangerously. He touched the rapier to her scarred throat and snarled, "Are yew alone, ferret?"

She craned her head back, to no avail. After a moment, she gave the slightest shake of her head. Nik gave a single, satisfied nod. Moving the blade further up her throat, he asked, "Where's your band?"

"Camp," the ferret corrected. She immediately regret it. Her expression turned from shock to horror in about half a second. Nik allowed the smallest smirk to tug at his mouth. 

"Where?" he asked again, his snout mere inches from hers, his blade pressing against her throat. 

"That way," she whimpered hoarsely, jerking her bandaged head in a westerly direction.

"How many?"

"S-sev'ral score."

That was it. Nik smiled benignly, removing his blade and stepping back. Threatening vermin was strangely therapeutic. But he didn't dwell on that thought as he sheathed his rapier and turned to Tarlish with a "We'll discuss your conduct later" look. 

"Less go, Guosim!" he called. The fighters looked at each other confusedly for a moment before dutifully setting out to follow their chief. The two holding the ferret let her slump back against a tree as they joined the rest of the patrol. 

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

To be perfectly fair, Tarlish wasn't expecting Nik to slug him like that. Nik seemed genuinely angry, and for a little beast the shrew sure packed a wallop. Tarlish heard a slight grunt of exertion, followed by the thunderclap of a fist to his right eye that sent stars exploding across his vision and him staggering back. An immediate reflexive urge to slice the shrew to shreds surged in his mind, but he took a moment for logic to push it back down.

Reeling from the blow, he regained his composure and held back, not talking or making a motion. Paws crossed behind his back, he stood passively at the edge of the group of shrews applying herbs and bandages to the wounded ferret who kept shooting terrified looks at Tarlish. Tarlish just stood there, staring the ferret blankly in the eyes.

Nik was shooting off looks of his own at Tarlish, angry and furious ones. Tarlish hadn't really considered how his comrade would react, but he did now recall that somebeasts had a dislike for torture at all. How odd, considering the nature of the victim.

Finally the ferret managed to cease its wailing long enough for the Logalol to quickly interrogate it. Shaken as it was by Tarlish's treatment, it quickly told him what he wanted to know. Tarlish paid close attention, noting the vermin's camp consisted of several score and was located to the west. Nik finished up, sheathing his blade and shooting Tarlish a warning look. Tarlish expression remained unchanging as he ordered for the Guosim to move out, leaving the ferret slumped up against a tree. As the patrol moved out, Tarlish darted towards it like a quicksilver.

The ferret recoiled in terror when he saw him, however he just bent down and whispered coldly into its ear.

"Try and escape, and I will cut your tail off piece by piece." Then without another word he ran back to Nik, heading the troop westward. "Hmm, I am disappointed in your actions comrade. You wasted medical supplies on one such as them, and for no purpose." He shook his head disapprovingly. "And it seems you plan to march on the vermin camp. Here I must break ways and move forward ahead of your trap. I wish to map out thier encampment, and I cannot have the risk of you being detected while I do so. Now, if you will pardon me, I will go dispose of our informant." He said, then briskly began to walk back towards the petrified ferret, flexing the muscles in his left forearm. With a metallic ring the hidden blade snapped from its sheath, extending out beneath his wrist. The ferret saw this and let out a cry of fear as the assassin moved in for he kill.

[Django]

((For the record, they didn't use any herbs for the wound, but it's not a big deal.))

If Nik had been mad before, Tarlish's words only made him madder. Before the marten could reach the ferret, Nik had grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, hauling him down to eye level. 

"Lissen t' me, ya puffed-up peacock," he snarled into the marten's ear, "Where I come from, yore kind's considered vermin jus' as much as hers is. Had ye met me not three seasons ago, I'd'a hung yore hide on me wall, but I spared ye 'cos I don't kill based on appearances anymore." 

He shoved Tarlish roughly, itching to beat the everliving daylights out of the bigger creature. He restrained himself purely for the fact that he knew he wouldn't be able to get the drop on Tarlish again. And fighting against an assassin whilst blinded by rage would not end well. 

"Ye know why I ordered the ferret t' be wrapped up," he asked at length, "arter yew 'ad the indecency t' rip the poor lass's ear off 'fore she could say two words t' ya? Hmm? Know why?" He jabbed a paw at the bigger beast, "Because unli'e yew, me an' mine got some sense o' right an' wrong. Takin' limbs off ain't 'ow it works. Yew think I were wasted on her? I'm wasted on yew. Ye think yore better'n she is? I'd sooner kill yew." 

Nik didn't realize he was breathing heavily until he finally stopped. He squared his shoulders and simply glared at the marten, having said all he'd wanted to say. For now.

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

He was really angry. Tarlish was yanked down to eye-level with the blistering shrew, almost a bit surprised.

"Lissen t' me, ya puffed-up peacock, where I come from, yore kind's considered vermin jus' as much as hers is. Had ye met me not three seasons ago, I'd'a hung yore hide on me wall, but I spared ye 'cos I don't kill based on appearances anymore."

Nik growled in his ear, causing Tarlish to pull his head back in irritation. He sighed irritably. Simple woodland creatures, didn't understand how things worked, as usual, but the Logalog cut him off just before he cold speak.

"Ye know why I ordered the ferret t' be wrapped up arter yew 'ad the indecency t' rip the poor lass's ear off 'fore she could say two words t' ya? Hmm? Know why? Because unli'e yew, me an' mine got some sense o' right an' wrong. Takin' limbs off ain't 'ow it works. Yew think I were wasted on her? I'm wasted on yew. Ye think yore better'n she is? I'd sooner kill yew."

Tarlish took a step back, anger flaring in his eyes. He shook his head firmly and addressed the shrew in a strong voice.

"Listen here, comrade. I am in lack of words that I must tell this to a leader of warriors, but good and wrong are only applicable to good beasts! And yet you have the ineptitude to try and apply such standards to one of those? To a vermin?!" He hissed in exapseration, casting a paw towards the huddled ferret. "And as for the mistake of my kinsbeasts being vermin, this is just another uneducated mistake. By the grace of Ka we were blessed with the attributes of such creatures, but not their dark souls. Vermin, are unnatural, they are an abomination. And as a leader of warriors, you must know this: offering pity and mercy to them as the same as trying to offer such to a boil. A boil must be lanced without mercy otherwise it will persist. Likewise," In one fluid movement darted down and picked the ferret up by its throat. Before any other beast could raise a paw, there was a snap and the hidden blade jolted forward, cleaving through the ferrets neck and retreating back beneath the assassins wrist.

Eye-wide open, the ferret looked at Tarlish in horror for a second, but then as her blood spilled from the wound and her eyes dimmed, she slumped in his grip, falling into the embrace of death. Dropping the body like spent rag, Tarlish looked back at Nik. "Likewise, comrade. Likewise, one must handle these filth." He said darkly, all pretension gone as the icy cold hatred of vermin poured from his spiteful eyes, casting a look at the still-bleeding corpse below.

He stared at Nik. "Young, elder, she-beast, babes, males, all vermin must die. Otherwise they will continue, they will spread their disease. A warriors job is to help the land, to purge the sickness. Anybeast not willing to realize the stakes and act upon it, my comrade, is not fit to lead." He finished, coldly and concisely.

[Django]

After the marten's lengthy diatribe, the vermin fell stone cold dead to the ground. Nik's eyes widened for a split second, then his brow furrowed so deeply it was hard to even see his eyes. Silence reigned in the clearing. Tension in the air became so taut it could've been sliced with Tarlish's blade. 

A metallic ring shattered the silence, and Nik's rapier suddenly found itself aimed at the marten's chest, tip quivering as the shrew trembled with pent-up rage. Insulted, infuriated, and indignant, the Logalog was most assuredly NOT in the mood for anymore of Tarlish's "logic", if it could so be called. Part of him wanted to rip the marten to shreds. Another part of him wanted to start yelling again. And yet a third part of him was certain that by this point, they were beyond words. 

Tarlish had just killed a vermin without any justifiable reason. Sure, Nik could guess by those scars that she'd been a fighter, more than likely killed plenty of beasts in her time, but she hadn't done a single thing to Tarlish, the patrol, or Nik. This marten was way out of line. 

Hold up, Nik, the shrew told himself, what were you gonna do with the vermin, anyway? Spare her?

Yes. 

Despite what she was. He'd have roughed her up a bit and left her by the tree. He'd have left to go scout out the camp. 

"Y'know, mate," the chieftain began, his voice dangerously low, "I don't think you an' I're gonna work well together." He lowered his blade fractionally, making a mental note to inform the rest of the Guosim of a mad marten on the loose. After a moment, Nik slid the rapier back into its sheath and added, "Never set paw 'n my tribe agin." 

Then, with a signal to the patrol, the chief left the marten in the dimming woods.

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

Tarlish had noted the movement and even as the rapiers point was speeding for his chest, his left forearm had snapped up, his blades metal gauntlet blocking the sword. He stared Nik in the eye, cold eyes meeting the shrews angry, hot ones. They were a boiling pot of mixed feelings, and Tarlish could see him struggling over whether to try and run the assassin through or not.

Preferably he wouldn't attack, Tarlish couldn't hurt him of course. He would have to beat it into the trees and hope the Guosim didn't have any particularly quick archers among them. But Nik held his composure, and Tarlish leaned back just a bit.

"Y'know, mate, I don't think you an' I're gonna work well together."

His voice was low, dangerous, and the shrew was clearly just a hairsbreadth from cutting him into slices. Tarlish's look suddenly changed to sorrow, and he shook his head sadly as the shrew slid away his blade and marched off, leaving the marten with a simple threat.

"Never set paw 'n my tribe agin."

Tarlish stood impassively and the tribe stalked away into the greenery, a solemn look on his face.

"I'm sorry it had to come to this, comrade." He whispered to himself, feeling heartache as they walked off. Then slowly, he turned and began making his way through the woods, pulling himself up a tree, and dashing through the canopy.

Why can't they see it? Why can't they just understand, there is nothing for them! They will take advantage of it at every turn, then stab you in the back for the rest of it. A waste, damned waste of decency on those creatures. My comrade, why couldn't you just see it? Tarlish's thoughts alternated between despairing and raging against the blindness and stubbornness of the Logalog.

"We walk a lonely path. Few in this land understand, and fewer want to. Why we do what we do, they cannot comprehend. They are a simple folk, unsuited to the realities they grapple with. We must be an example to them, we must strive in our way to show that our way is the only way to cure the plague. Follow this path Tarlish, follow and never deviate from it. Adherence to our way is the only hope of saving this land and its people. Remember this above all else." Words from his mentor came to his mind, comforting him. Sometimes he wished Dala was with him. Her wisdom and loyalty to the cause had inspired him and his friends while growing up, and faced with the temptations and struggles of this land, being alone in the truth was sometimes overwhelming.

The air rushed past his head as he bounded through the trees, years of learning coming together as he judged distances, spread his weight out, softened his landings and avoided particularly leafy branches in an effort to reduce his noise level. Sticking his head out of the treetops to get his bearings every once and a while asides, he was still making fairly good progress for having gone in a bit of an arc to avoid Nik's patrol. And then he sensed it.

The smell of smoke, was the first sign, followed by the distant sound of voices below. Slowing down quickly, he cautiously worked his way across the thick branches on all fours, ears wide open, tracking the noise. The trees gave way ahead of him, indicating a clearing of some sort. Moving at a crawl through the trees now, he inched forward, all senses on high-alert. Sounds of talking grew louder, along with the smell of campfire.

The tree's gave way, and Tarlish pulled himself up onto a higher branch, secluding himself in a rather thick cluster of leaves. The camp spread out below, and the sentry obviously had been been lying, he counted ten assorted vermin in the clearing along with three tents and a campfire. However, what struck him odd was how non-vermin they looked. They were all bathed and cleaned, and there wasn't a piece of rust among them. All their equipment, while not necessarily shining, was in excellent condition and instead of the usual lazy slouch of their kind, they were very professional looking.

Three stood lookout while five more attended their gear and the final two cooked some fish over the fire. The lookouts were impressive, each with intersecting fields of vision that made up for the perimeter and they were all very sharp-eyed and keen looking, scanning the woods attentively for any possible threat. A thin smile spread across his face, this was looking to be a challenge indeed.

But something irked at him. This was too professional, too clean to be just some band. These looked like soldiers, not raiders or bandits. Which lead to mind, these were part of a larger group, they were an outpost of some kind. Which in turn lead to mind, that getting inside this organization was absolutely vital.

Right then, lets get to it. Dropping down to a branch below him, he hopped over onto the trunk and clambered down. Then, taking a deep breath, he stepped out into the clearing, hands raised. "Please, do not attack. I am interested in joining your force if I may."

[Django]

Romulus was experiencing a sense he had rarely experienced in the past. Apprehension. It was uncommon for the warlord to feel any kind of dread, worry, or doubt. This sense was near nonexistent, to be generous, not to mention ungrounded. But, however small this current sense of apprehension might be, it was there, and it unnerved Romulus to no end. 

Even Rommel had been wary about checking up on camps today. After all, there was an army of felines in his abbey, and Romulus' soldiers were becoming extremely restless. Ever since the beginning, the horde had itched to see Romulus' plan come to fruition. But now, a whole two decades after the mouse warlord had created his army, they were downright mad with eagerness to take over the abbey. 

Having corresponded with his captains, Romulus was fully aware of just what he was walking into when he stepped out of the abbey and headed for the camp just a few klicks west of the water meadows. Rommel warned him to stay at the abbey for awhile longer, just to make sure the cat army was settled in comfortably, but Romulus had paid no heed to his second persona. 

The cats made him vomit, anyway, with their visage of being "goodbeasts in need of care". He didn't believe a word of it, but Rommel did. The abbot had pity on them while the mouse warlord was certain it was all an act. And he halfway hoped for them to take over the abbey while Rommel was out. That way Romulus would have a viable reason to hate them and send in his own forces to purge them from HIS abbey. 

Evening wore on as the field mouse continued his trek through the woods, sword by his side. He twirled a small garnet pendant around one paw, appearing for all the world as an elder mouse warrior making his way through Mossflower. He'd shed his habit near the abbey, leaving it somewhere it would not be discovered by a Redwaller who happened to fancy an evening stroll outside the walls. 

He donned his trademark leather mail vest and breeches, easily recognizable by his hordebeasts that way. Speaking of which, he was nearing the camp. This part of the forest was familiar to him. Some sixth sense (that should've been destroyed long ago by his dueling personalities) told Romulus to pause. He halted, listening intently to the woodland. 

Voices. Up ahead. Near his camp. The garnet pendant was slipped over his head, and his paws moved to his sword hilt. He resumed walking, his bare paws making no noise through the underbrush as he neared the clearing. The voices had stopped, and several pairs of feet moved off through the trees. Romulus proceeded with caution. Not that he didn't always. 

The smell of blood reached his nose next, and he pulled the sword an inch out of its sheath. The sound should have made any attackers still at the scene start thinking about moving away. But there was nobeast at the scene when he arrived. Just a dead ferret. Mutilated, head bandaged, and throat slit open. Romulus recognized her. Somebeast had killed his soldier. 

The body was warm, blood still flowing from the wound. Whoever had killed the ferret was gone, but he was sure he'd be able to pick up a trail. That is, if he'd wanted to. One vermin short. A shame, but no undue damage to his horde. He picked up her fallen spear and continued on. 

Upon reaching the perimeter of his camp, he noticed a commotion just ahead of him. He halted a few yards back, watching as a marten entered his camp and held up his paws. A newcomer? How delightful. A distraction for the horde. Mayhaps Romulus wouldn't have to deal with the delay issues today.

"Please, do not attack. I am interested in joining your force if I may."

Interesting dialect. Strong, lithe, articulate, entering with peace. The warlord decided to take a second look at this one. Before a barrage of weapons could be thrust against the marten's throat, Romulus stepped wordlessly into the camp. His very presence could be felt by his soldiers, and they scrambled to their feet, half their attention on the marten, the other half on their leader. 

"M'lord," the captain presiding over the camp, a burly weasel, stepped up to the mouse, offering a salute. "You've arrived at a most opportune moment. As you can see, there's a--" He was cut off by Romulus shoving the dead ferret's spear into his paws. 

"I dinnae take in strays," the first words the mouse spoke were to the marten. Pale, glass-colored eyes locked with steely gray ones. That sixth sense in Romulus told him to be wary of this one, just as he should be wary of all his soldiers. But he liked new recruits. They were less restless than the veterans in regards to seeing the plan unfold. 

Paws clasped behind his back, Romulus walked up to the marten, ignoring the height difference. At this close proximity to the newcomer, warning bells began to sound in the back of Romulus' mind. Odd. Rommel always hated new recruits, but this was more than that. This was a red flag. What was the marten's real reason for being here? The warlord needed to know, and he needed to know now. 

"Tell me, why ye think ye can join my forces, then, eh?" he decided not to deviate from protocol. Asking a new recruit any different questions than he normally did, and the camp might stir. The marten would notice and become suspicious. Suspicion was the last thing Romulus wanted in a new recruit. 

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

All curiosity Tarlish had about this unit immediately magnified times ten when the mouse stepped into the clearing and was addressed in a submissive tone by the tough-looking weasel in charge. What was this? Why was a mouse given respect amongst these vermin? Why was he associated with them? An inside worker as well, working to bring down the group? Thoughts crowded into his mind, forcing him to concentrate on keeping a straight face. No time for thoughts now, as the mouse strode up to him and stared him in the eye, radiating power.

"I dinnae take in strays,"

He spoke with strength, with power, with a coldness that reminded Tarlish of himself. He stalked up, utterly unimpressed by the martens height as he scanned him with his smooth, glassy eyes.

"Tell me, why ye think ye can join my forces, then, eh?"

Tarlish looked him dead in the eye, hands folded in front of him.

"Because I am a very good fighter and I excel in the arts of stealth and parkour." He said plainly.

[Django]

"Because I am a very good fighter and I excel in the arts of stealth and parkour."

Stealth, hmm? Romulus could work with that. If the marten was as good as he said. The warlord had lost track of how many times a prospective recruit had lied about his or her skills. Paws still clasped smartly behind his back, the mouse turned away from the marten. 

"Name," he demanded of the newcomer. Catching the eye of his captain, he murmured, "Armor, lad. Now." The weasel nodded and dashed off to one of the tents. All the captains made sure their lord's armor was brought to the camp he'd be visiting, for just such an occasion as this. One could never be too careful. 

It didn't take long for the captain to return with the shiny black armor Romulus often wore. The mouse had long ago scrounged up enough pieces to cover one arm and his shins. His other arm was normally busy wielding a sword. Speaking of which, the old blade came out of its sheath with a dull ring. He examined it with a jaundiced eye, casually turning around to face the marten. 

This wasn't his best sword, but it was the one he was most comfortable with. If Tarlish could best him at the top of his game, he was in. With a deft twirl of the blade, the scarred mouse finally returned his attention to the prospective. 

"Whit weapons have ye, lad?" he inquired professionally. His armored paw was folded behind his back, his sword paw gripping the hilt of the old blade, the tip of which was pointed down in a non-threatening way. Yet his stance seemed only to magnify his demeanor of power. 

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

"Name,"

A simple command delivered in a authoritative voice that brought to mind members of his own tribe. Tarlish's ears perked forward with interest at the mouse who commanded so much attention from these grizzled killers about him.

"Tarlish, m'lord." He said in a strong, clear voice. As he waited to be addressed again, mind racing, he noted a weasel approaching the mouse with an armful of armor in his paws. Watching with interest as the mouse outfitted himself in the shiny black apparel, Tarlish began to suspect. He either means to slay me, or test my mettle. Either way, I must move quickly. Such a chance will not occur again.

The warlord swiftly dressed his right arm and his shins in plating, but left the rest of his self bared to danger. Sliding a sword from his sheath with a metallic ringing, he twirled it, experience radiating from his every movement. His blade dipped non-threateningly towards the the ground as he readdressed Tarlish.

"Whit weapons have ye, lad?"

Taking a casual step forward, Tarlish drew his mottled blade, holding it carelessly in his right paw. "Ma lord, I have naught but my sword and my dagger."

Now. It happened. In a flash of movement, Tarlish's sword sliced down, pinning the mouse's blade to the ground. Taking advantage of the brief lull of surprise, he stepped forward and darted his left arm around the mouse, spinning him around and pulling him against his chest, sword arm across the mouses own chest and pinning the mouses arms. In unison, the hidden blade beneath Tarlish's left wrist shot out, resting a hair from the mouses throat.

Tarlish spun around, holding the mouse between him and the vermin, three of whom already had bows notched and arrows pointed right at Tarlish. Yanking his captive close and pressing the edge of his blade against the mouses neck, Tarlish stared them coldly in the eye, slowly backing towards the forest. "Drop thy weapons, or like a ripe peach I shall cut this ones throat."

[Django]

Though Romulus was known for catlike reflexes, the marten honestly did catch him by surprise. Before the warlord had a chance to react, he was in the grip of a bigger and stronger beast. And the beast was making demands of his horde. That was not going to fly. 

Despite the sword at his throat, the mouse was instinctively trying to figure out how to get out of his current situation. The sharp elbow of his black armor jabbed into the marten's chest. Hard. As Romulus shoved Tarlish away, he received a gash on his neck. Ignoring the pain, he ducked down as his warriors took the opportunity to assault the marten. 

"Cease!" the command was loud, clear, and forceful. It was unknown how many, or if any arrows had entered into the marten's body, but where was he? Romulus stood up, sword in paw. The would-be recruit-turned-assailant was gone. One paw at his bleeding neck, the warlord searched the woods, the trees, the sky for the attacker. But no trace of the marten remained. 

"My lord," the weasel captain already had bandages ready for the wound on Romulus' neck. Cursing under his breath, the mouse allowed his captain to patch him up. This was not the end. That much was evident in the pale, glass-colored eyes of the horde leader as he kept his unwavering gaze upon the outer reaches of his camp. 

-

Meeting that gaze from within the underbrush were two fiery green eyes belonging to none other than Nik Lagdo. He'd witnessed the entire scene, from Tarlish's entrance to the camp to his attempted murder of the mouse leader. Questions tumbled through the shrew's mind as the scene unfolded before him. 

What was Tarlish doing? Was he more vermin than even he realized? Who was that mouse? Why was he leading this horde of vermin? Were there more vermin camps like this one? Why did that mouse look familiar? 

The questions had to be silenced for a few minutes as he heard a rustle in the tree canopy above him. Only two creatures would be in the trees: squirrels and Tarlish. D*mn that marten. 

But hey, why was this any of Nik's concern anymore? He could just let the marten go, couldn't he? He decided he would do just that. He made a signal to the Guosim to be on their way. They had a patrol to finish. Nik made a mental note of this vermin camp they'd seen and led the way off into the woods.

[Directed by M. Night Shyamalan]

The moment the mouse had began escaping from Tarlish's grasp, the marten had tucked and rolled, dodging the first salvo of arrows. Streaking for the treeline, he made a leap at then nearest branch, scrambling up just as another two arrows sank into the bark he'd been on moments before.

Curses curses curses! He swore furiously at himself. Failure, he'd botched the assassination and he'd blown his cover for good there. Now moving at an all out burst through the trees, he leaped and swung as arrows hissed overhead. Not that he was too worried, invisible as he was and being such a nimble target, he doubted any vermin would have the skill to-

"Aaaah!" He shouted in reflex as an arrow sank into his left leg. His concentration broke, along with his flow. He tumbled forward off the bough he was on, falling out of the canopy. Grabbing desperately for a purchase to stop his flight, branches whipped and tore at him as he twisted in the air, trying to gauge his distance from the ground.

WHAM. An outlying branch hit the back of his head, flipping him around and knocking him out cold. His limp body hit the ground in a pile, almost immediately dissolving into the foliage. His breathing slowed, and soon he was all but invisible in the greenery.