Post by fernleaf on Jun 28, 2014 21:38:41 GMT -5
The Hermit knew joy.
From his little hut in Mosslower Forest, just off the main road to Redwall, the Hermit knew the joys of life. He was learning the nature of herbs, plants and flowers, and was becoming a master herbalist. One thing that had made him proud of himself was when he had used his knowledge to heal an otter from a poisoned arrow. He knew the antidote and it caused those at Redwall to notice the hermit, who largely kept to himself. Sometimes they paid him a visit, but what really brought him joy was when the Dibbuns, the dear, sweet Dibbuns came to call. They eased his loneliness and taught him much on living the life of a goodbeast.
And he taught them much. He showed them the ways of the plants, what was good, and what to avoid, the poisonous plants. Of flowers and trees. And he told them stories of far-off lands. There were some stories that haunted his past that he wouldn't tell them, lest it darken their happy innocence. But they loved him and impressed him with their unquenchable cheerfulness.
That day, he had finished a lesson with them when the Joseph Bell sounded at Redwall Abbey, signalling time for dinner. "You had better run along now, before your Badger Mother misses you." he said, leaning on his hornbeam staff. "Bye, mistah Fernleaf." they said, as they ran off. He smiled at that name. It was the name they bestowed upon him long ago, and he took to it. A molebabe stopped, turned and waved his digging claws at him. Fernleaf waved back, then turned away to his own hut. He drew back the hood of his grey cloak, revealing the visage of a ferret. A tear trickled down his masked face. "I don't deserve their love." he said, "But I'm so glad for it."
He entered his hut, looking around at his simple surroundings. "I am truly happy, more happy than I deserve to be." The surroundings were simple, a small bed against the further wall, some tables and a chair. On one table was a candle, a loaf of bread and a beaker of elderberry wine, with a glass. Another table had a knife which he used to chop up herbs and other things. He laid the pouch he had on him on that table, and hung up his cloak. There was a shelf which contained some books on herblore, mostly written by himself over the years.
On a wall above the bed was one of the strangest things, to any who visited. It was a picture he had drawn of the Badger Lord of Salamandastron. He looked at it and said, "Another day fulfilled, my lord," as he turned and sat down to his meal of bread and wine.
It was not always that way.
Once, about fifteen years in the past, he had been the typical vermin, cruel and warlike. He could not remember the name he had back then, 'something...claw.' What had changed him? He still remembered the day with gratitude. It was a day when he was fleeing his own kind who were trying to kill him. He wound up at the door of Salamandastron, the most unlikely place to seek asylum, and to his surprise, they took him in, fed him, and gave him lodging for the night. The hares were very watchful of him, and he wasn't given free run of the Mountain, but the ferret was touched by the act.
That night, he pondered his life, how backstabbing was the way, and he pondered the peaceful ways of goodbeasts, even those forced to be warriors to defend all, like those here at the Mountain. And it changed him. He wanted that, wanted it so much, it hurt.
The next morning, at breakfast, he was to be sent out with a haversack of goods, but he requested to meet with the Badger Lord. Escorted by two hares, he approached and knelt down before the badger. He was probably the only vermin that had been that close to this Badger Lord, and lived, and he was trembling as he looked up at this one. He didn't know how lucky he was that the hares beside him were there. He raised his paws, and the hares tensed. But his intentions were good. He said,
"I have never known kindness before last night, and it has really touched me, my lord. I will never forget it, and want to be like that, so I say," looking up into the intimidating eyes of the badger,
"Vermin I was, vermin I am, but I shall be vermin no more.
No more will these paws bear weapon to harm any goodbeast.
I will follow the path of a hermit, and learn the ways of peace.
If ever I break this vow, may I meet you in your bloodwrath and not escape.
But if I keep the vow to the end, and we meet in Dark Forest, think better of me."
Fernleaf remembered his departure, escorted by hares to the shore, where he found a large piece of driftwood that he would use as a boat. He paddled away, finally finding the River Moss, and went upstream, till finally he was within sight of Redwall Abbey. There was where he set up his hermitage, in the woods beside the path. He rarely visited the Abbey, as he was so unsure of his welcome. But the Dibbuns welcomed him. Once a year, a Long Patrol of hares checked in on him, to see if he was living up to his vow. Fernleaf knew they had an ulterior motive, that they would be going to the Abbey where they would enjoy a good scoff. It was not just to call on him.
He finished his meal and his reverie, and after making an entry in his journal, he went to bed.
He didn't know that his fortunes were about to make another turn. First it was from vermin to goodbeast, but the next turn of fortune was to cement his nature as goodbeast and go on to be something more.
For his deeds had come to the attention of the guardian spirit of Redwall, Martin the Warrior.
OOC: Open tags. I don't know what Martin will do or who he will speak to, Fernleaf, or somebody in the Abbey, but I'm open to it. I'll be thinking.
From his little hut in Mosslower Forest, just off the main road to Redwall, the Hermit knew the joys of life. He was learning the nature of herbs, plants and flowers, and was becoming a master herbalist. One thing that had made him proud of himself was when he had used his knowledge to heal an otter from a poisoned arrow. He knew the antidote and it caused those at Redwall to notice the hermit, who largely kept to himself. Sometimes they paid him a visit, but what really brought him joy was when the Dibbuns, the dear, sweet Dibbuns came to call. They eased his loneliness and taught him much on living the life of a goodbeast.
And he taught them much. He showed them the ways of the plants, what was good, and what to avoid, the poisonous plants. Of flowers and trees. And he told them stories of far-off lands. There were some stories that haunted his past that he wouldn't tell them, lest it darken their happy innocence. But they loved him and impressed him with their unquenchable cheerfulness.
That day, he had finished a lesson with them when the Joseph Bell sounded at Redwall Abbey, signalling time for dinner. "You had better run along now, before your Badger Mother misses you." he said, leaning on his hornbeam staff. "Bye, mistah Fernleaf." they said, as they ran off. He smiled at that name. It was the name they bestowed upon him long ago, and he took to it. A molebabe stopped, turned and waved his digging claws at him. Fernleaf waved back, then turned away to his own hut. He drew back the hood of his grey cloak, revealing the visage of a ferret. A tear trickled down his masked face. "I don't deserve their love." he said, "But I'm so glad for it."
He entered his hut, looking around at his simple surroundings. "I am truly happy, more happy than I deserve to be." The surroundings were simple, a small bed against the further wall, some tables and a chair. On one table was a candle, a loaf of bread and a beaker of elderberry wine, with a glass. Another table had a knife which he used to chop up herbs and other things. He laid the pouch he had on him on that table, and hung up his cloak. There was a shelf which contained some books on herblore, mostly written by himself over the years.
On a wall above the bed was one of the strangest things, to any who visited. It was a picture he had drawn of the Badger Lord of Salamandastron. He looked at it and said, "Another day fulfilled, my lord," as he turned and sat down to his meal of bread and wine.
It was not always that way.
Once, about fifteen years in the past, he had been the typical vermin, cruel and warlike. He could not remember the name he had back then, 'something...claw.' What had changed him? He still remembered the day with gratitude. It was a day when he was fleeing his own kind who were trying to kill him. He wound up at the door of Salamandastron, the most unlikely place to seek asylum, and to his surprise, they took him in, fed him, and gave him lodging for the night. The hares were very watchful of him, and he wasn't given free run of the Mountain, but the ferret was touched by the act.
That night, he pondered his life, how backstabbing was the way, and he pondered the peaceful ways of goodbeasts, even those forced to be warriors to defend all, like those here at the Mountain. And it changed him. He wanted that, wanted it so much, it hurt.
The next morning, at breakfast, he was to be sent out with a haversack of goods, but he requested to meet with the Badger Lord. Escorted by two hares, he approached and knelt down before the badger. He was probably the only vermin that had been that close to this Badger Lord, and lived, and he was trembling as he looked up at this one. He didn't know how lucky he was that the hares beside him were there. He raised his paws, and the hares tensed. But his intentions were good. He said,
"I have never known kindness before last night, and it has really touched me, my lord. I will never forget it, and want to be like that, so I say," looking up into the intimidating eyes of the badger,
"Vermin I was, vermin I am, but I shall be vermin no more.
No more will these paws bear weapon to harm any goodbeast.
I will follow the path of a hermit, and learn the ways of peace.
If ever I break this vow, may I meet you in your bloodwrath and not escape.
But if I keep the vow to the end, and we meet in Dark Forest, think better of me."
Fernleaf remembered his departure, escorted by hares to the shore, where he found a large piece of driftwood that he would use as a boat. He paddled away, finally finding the River Moss, and went upstream, till finally he was within sight of Redwall Abbey. There was where he set up his hermitage, in the woods beside the path. He rarely visited the Abbey, as he was so unsure of his welcome. But the Dibbuns welcomed him. Once a year, a Long Patrol of hares checked in on him, to see if he was living up to his vow. Fernleaf knew they had an ulterior motive, that they would be going to the Abbey where they would enjoy a good scoff. It was not just to call on him.
He finished his meal and his reverie, and after making an entry in his journal, he went to bed.
He didn't know that his fortunes were about to make another turn. First it was from vermin to goodbeast, but the next turn of fortune was to cement his nature as goodbeast and go on to be something more.
For his deeds had come to the attention of the guardian spirit of Redwall, Martin the Warrior.
OOC: Open tags. I don't know what Martin will do or who he will speak to, Fernleaf, or somebody in the Abbey, but I'm open to it. I'll be thinking.
Woodlanders are best, though that pine marten sounds very interesting. 
LOL