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Post by Margorr on Nov 17, 2015 1:18:14 GMT -5
"Well spoken, M'lord." Boggs remarked quietly to Lasair. He took a good look at the Company he'd selected. He could tell that Lord Lasair's words had had a positive effect on them, though some of the younger hares still looked a little nervous. Facing Lasair one last time, Boggs saluted them.
"Thank you, Lord Lasair, for those words. We'll be off to Redwall!" He turned around to face the Company.
"Right you lot! To the front, Salute!" He ordered. The Long Patrol followed his order, Saluting the Badger Lord. "About - Turn!"
The Company brought their paws down and did a 180, turning to face away from the mountain. Boggs made his way to the front, and turned to address them. "The journey to Redwall is six days by paw. I want to do it in four. Anybeast I hear complainin' pulls double watch duty once we get to Redwall! Ready? For'ard march! Double time, chaps!"
The Long Patrol, marching in double time, headed away from Salamandastron and on towards Mossflower.
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Post by Captain Bigwig on Nov 17, 2015 1:32:00 GMT -5
The General had been in the infirmary since his men returned - it had been a bit over an hour, now, and the healers had bandaged his body up as best as they could. They tried to urge him to sleep, to rest, but his body ached too badly to entertain that idea, and he settled for drinking water and working on eating a few scones, hoping they'd settle in his stomach easily. The commotion with the Major, therefore, had not gone unnoticed - but he didn't interrupt Boggsorly's work. If they were in a hurry to be off to Redwall... let them go. Protecting a huge hunk of rock filled with little creatures too scared to lift up a toothpick wasn't of his concern, at the moment.
Despite being firmly commanded to stay in bed, Ridgewell lifted his hand and snarled at the healer that kept trying to press him back into the mattress.
"Off me!" he snapped. "I have things to do, and you'd be best not gettin' in my way, wot! If I keel over, feel free to say 'I told you so!'"
The General was obviously weak on his feet. He, miraculously, hadn't broken any bones, which is more than some other sorry hares could say. However, he was dehydrated, exhausted, had lost quite a bit of blood, and his muscles screamed with pain, each motion disturbing the scars littered on his skin. Only being able to see out of one eye didn't help things, either. It would take him constant practice to perfect his depth-perception, and his fighting would suffer until he'd had a long time to get back up to where he had been before.
Hobbling down the hall, he listened to the Major leading his party from the mountain, and stilled, steadying himself on the wall for a moment. He hadn't had a chance to talk to the old blighter before he'd left, and it left a sour taste in the General's mouth. By the time he would finally be able to apologize about his daughter, it would be far too late.
Continuing on, he stood at the mouth of the hall, his one good eye boring into the back of Lasair's head.
"Tell me, sah," he spoke, once the room had quieted down, "if the rumors I've been hearin'... are true. That you intend to lead our finest men against these savages... and leave me behind?"
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Post by Taurian on Nov 17, 2015 15:27:38 GMT -5
Molan's heart clenched. They had known that the general wouldn't be happy about the plan, and had hoped that they could be on their way without this confrontation. "Let us speak in the forge room," the badger replied, dodging the general's question. They lumbered up the stairs, and settled into their chair, pulling off the leg braces. Placing them on the ground beside the chair, Molan turned to the general.
"It is true that I intended tae leave with seven and a 'alf scores o' hares tae follow the vermin. An' yes, tis true that my plan was tae leave ye 'ere with the rest, an' put it tae ye tae find the vermin ships and," phantom smoke scorched Molan's lungs as he forced out the words, "burn them. Yer hurt, Ridgewell, an' I'd not want a recruit tailing vermin in the state yer in, much less an officer. I know ye want tae go, but yer in no shape tae come with us! Maybe in a few days ye an a few others can join us, but ye need tae let yerself get well first!"
Molan saw Ilira's body, and Renwal kneeling beside it, both their pelts riddled with wounds. And then it was the general's body, and the major by his side, close to death himself. The badger raised a paw to cover their eyes, not letting it drop from their face as they listened to the general's retort.
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Post by Captain Bigwig on Nov 17, 2015 16:44:14 GMT -5
The General curled his lip in mild disgust as Lord Lasair brushed off his question. Didn't want to make a spectacle, did he? That could only mean everything Ridgewell had heard was painfully true. Still, he bit back a retort, following Molan at a slow pace to the forge. It seemed funny to him, that for once, it was him that couldn't keep up. Typically, anytime he and the Badger Lord were headed to the same place, it was always the General who slowed his steps to adjust to Molan's comparatively pitiful pace.
Staring in silence as Molan removed his braces, the General seated himself slowly into a chair, back stiff and fists clenched tight at his sides.
Listening to Lord Lasair's reasoning with a stony expression, Ridgewell stayed silent, letting his superior speak. Ridgewell had studied the badger lords of old, and he loved the heritage of the mountain with every fiber of his being, and dared not to sound insolent in his replies to his commander. However, in the dark parts of his heart, Ridgewell often wondered if Lord Lasair was a capable leader or not. His past plagued him terribly, that much was no secret, and his legs... how did he plan to lead seven and a half scores of fit, healthy hares, when he himself would struggle to keep pace?
"These vermin ships... you suggest we burn them," he finally replied, voice gravelly and grave.
"I hardly see what use that has, considering the vermin are marching farther and farther into the mainland. Evidently, concentrating our forces to kill them now, before more beasts get hurt... Is that not a more durable solution? By all means, my lord, burn the boats - but oughtn't we destroy the vermin that own the boats? Do you think the boats will float off without them? And worse, what if we do burn the boats, and fall to the vermin... If their intentions were to come, wreak havoc, steal from Mossflower, and leave... they couldn't go. They'd still be here, tormenting the civilians that remain, for as long as it took them to build more ships."
Raising from his chair, the General crossed his arms behind his back, puffing out his chest as best he could. He trembled with something - anger, or fear, it wasn't clear - and he bowed his head, voice breaking slightly.
"My condition is not to be considered. By this time tomorrow, I'll... I'll be fit for travel, I'm sure. My lord, I beg of you - don't make me lead our lowliest men to burn boats while the rest of you are out sacrificing your lives for creatures who don't even realize what is happening!"
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Post by Taurian on Nov 17, 2015 18:00:34 GMT -5
A part of Molan wanted to growl, wanted to roar in the general's face for questioning their orders. But that attitude, that unwillingness to listen, that moment when they didn't stop and think, had gotten people killed, and Molan wasn't about to make that mistake again. They took a long moment to gather their thoughts before speaking.
"Thankee, Ridgewell, fer speakin' yer mind. It's always good tae hear from yer officers when preparing tae initiate plans. Yer points regardin' the boats are sound, but the idea o' those scum escaping doesn't sit well with me. Perhaps tae sabotage them, make them sink when they're in the middle o' the ocean... but that doesnae concern us." The badger's lips curled up into a smile as they made an offer to the hare. "Tomorrow afternoon, the troops'll be assembled on the sands, and we'll be ready tae march tae the abbey. If ye rest up, let the healers take care o' ye, and beat me in a race tomorrow mornin', ye can come with us. I'll not leave ye behind if ye demonstrate that yer fit fer travel."
Molan had read of the lords of the past, too, and felt their rage like the forge fire. There was that same flame in their chest, but behind heavy iron bars since Phoenixclaw. Anger and rage would not get the better of them again. They saw the difference betwixt them and the old lords, saw their weakened legs, their aching mind. They saw the lords of Maelstrom, too, saw Bear the Wanderer, who attacked like the water, overwhelming and passionate, retaliative and calculated. The fire in their chest burned, and the flames licked at their mind. An unending rage could do no good, but Molan could only wait until such fire could be unleashed without a danger to their soldiers.
{aaaaa that last paragraph is a bit weird and the grammar is weird I guess it's just another look at the character you can just ignore it}
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Post by Captain Bigwig on Nov 18, 2015 2:00:56 GMT -5
A race...? Was Lord Lasair being serious? The General was wounded, yes, and badly so - but at least his legs still worked! Truthfully, the General didn't care if the Badger Lord sent troops to sink the ships, he just didn't want to be part of such a menial task! As the General, he belonged on the front lines, with his men, supporting them and guiding them. He did not doubt Lord Lasair's ability to lead an army as far as boosting morale and calling the shots, but this was his job. He wouldn't stand by and watch it slip from him.
"Your offer is... generous, sah. I suppose I ought to depart at once, then. In the morning, I will be there, and I will take you up on your offer. And when I win, we'll march out together. Until then, I ought to return to the infirmary..."
Making to leave, he paused in the doorway. Fingers brushing against the wall, he exhaled slowly through his nose, the words aching to spring from his mind swirling around, taunting him, teasing him...
"My lord..."
Looking over his shoulder, his remaining eye drooping ever so, bloodshot and bitter, he grit his teeth.
"Whether I go with you or not... I hope you can promise me, you'll stay focused on our task. Dispel the ghosts from your head. They look to you for guidance, and you shan't drift off into those dark places before battle. I fear the outcome."
And with a grunt, he was gone, moving down the hall slowly, eager to get to the infirmary and truly try to rest. Losing the race would destroy what little pride he had left.
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Post by Taurian on Nov 18, 2015 19:57:12 GMT -5
{Molan's gonna talk to some ghosts and try to actually get their act together and finally start fully recovering from their painful past!}
"He's right, you know," Cregga's voice sounded in Molan's head. "You're hindered by the visions, haunted by the ghosts of the fallen." The voice softened. "They don't blame you, you know. Ilira and Renwol. They've made their peace with it. You need to let them go."
"They dinnae blame me, but I still do."
"And you're going to blame yourself for the death of your hares in battle. The ship will flash before your eyes, and you'll be floundering, and your hares will die. And you will blame yourself, and go wandering again, and carry their ghosts and that battle with you," the old badger was just about roaring at Molan. "You have to let this go, Molan." Molan could see the shadow of the Badger Lady, snarling then smiling sadly at them, a paw on their shoulder.
"How do I let go?"
"In stages. Slowly but surely. Healing hurts, but it's better to heal than to let a wound fester and make new wounds. But we will not begin tonight. You have a race to prepare for." She was smiling now, and left Molan with a sense of peace that had not visited the badger for many seasons.
--
Molan worked late, and with the help of their three forge assistants, Muldrin Iarann, Haury Rutherford, and Octiria Ferriera, fashioned a new pair of leg braces, designed to be more powerful and comfortable. They also patched up Molan's traditional spiked armor and claw blades, smoothing out dents and sharpening edges. The leg braces were made of more supple wood, reinforced with a copper alloy to allow for growth, and they were lined with a thin layer of down feathers, collected by young hares from seagull nests or donated from visiting birds. They were markedly more comfortable than the last pair, the joints moved smoothly (helped by some duck-oil, donated a few seasons before), and they looked fearsome when plated with red-dyed copper. They practiced walking across the forge room a few times, and did so with ease, and very slight discomfort, to a chorus of "Go on, sah! You can do it! That's the stuff! Spiffin' job, sah!" from their assistants.
"Thankee, friends. Rutherford, ye are tae accompany us tae follow the vermin. Bring as many of the supplies as ye can carry, just in case these need fixin'." The badger pulled the hares in for a hug, and they were smiling when they pulled away. "Ye can go tae sleep now. I hear there's a big race in the mornin'. Wouldn't want ye tae miss that!"
Lord Lasair went to sleep with an easy mind, and for once, they did not dream.
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Post by Captain Bigwig on Nov 20, 2015 15:37:35 GMT -5
Sleep had not come easy to the General that night. The beds in the infirmary weren't as comfortable as the one he had in his private quarters, and he thought of music as he tried to drift off, composing a mournful tune for the fallen. Music was all that really comforted him these days, but in the infirmary, he had nothing to write his thoughts down on. He tossed and turned with pain, ate as much as his stomach could hold down and drank all the water that was offered to him. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he was getting too old to be an effective general. Too weak in the mind. If he was replaced, what would become of his life?
The morning came early, and the General was pleased to find that in the night, some of the hares had created a simple leather eye patch for him. When they finished re-dressing his wounded eye, they slid the eye patch on over his head, and it brought back some of Ridgewell's lost confidence. He was still tired, and his muscles ached, but the pulsing, flaring pain of the scars on his skin had died down considerably. Stepping out of bed, he winced, but held back any sounds of displeasure.
With the help of two young hares, he was guided to his quarters, where they dressed him in his uniform, fastening the pins to his jacket with care. Snapping on his belt, he adjusted his sabre at his hip and his dagger in his jacket, and stretched slowly. It was evident that this race was most likely a mistake. The General knew Lord Lasair was a weak-legged beast, and the General was one of the finest and fastest hares in the Long Patrol, but with all these aches, he hardly desired to walk.
Making his way back down to the entrance of the mountain, having eaten breakfast and gotten all the rest he could, he tried to ignore the eyes that stared at him so shamelessly.
"If there's to be a race... We'd best be getting on with it... No use prolonging the march..."
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Post by Taurian on Nov 21, 2015 7:56:10 GMT -5
Molan was waiting on the sands as the general emerged from the mountain. The badger was well-rested, and the haggard looks that they had worn during their nightly vigils was fading. There were hares lined up along the sands, forming the lane that the general and the badger lord would race along. Molan wore their leg braces, and their armor was in a sack that Rutherford carried over his shoulder. "Good morn, General Lavenderfur!" They called to the general, a wide smile on their face.
"I'm not going tae be wearin' armor, so if ye wish, ye can 'and yer blades tae one o' the privates o'er there," they indicated a few hares standing on the sidelines.
"Now, pick yer lane, an' let's get this race underway!"
----
Ionya Parlar, a young haremaid with an incredibly loud and clear voice, stood between the two lanes and outlined the rules. "Thaaa winner shall be the first beast to cross the finish line! No pushing, shoving, or any sort of foul play, sahs! Th' race shall begin when I say "go"!" She stepped back from the lanes so she wouldn't be blocking their way. Two hares beside her readied to sound their horns. "AAAAAAAANNNDDDD.......GO!" The horns sounded, and the race was on.
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Post by Captain Bigwig on Dec 4, 2015 0:54:14 GMT -5
Grimacing slightly at the sight of the Badger Lord, the General heaved a sigh, stepping forward slowly, as to not betray his weakness. The fact Lord Lasair seemed so chipper had Ridgewell concerned, and he shook his head slightly at the hares that were lined up to form their track. Ridiculous. Convenient, he supposed, but silly all the same.
Stripping himself of his armor, he revealed the horrid scars that littered his body from the events that sparked this march, thankful that his fur hid the bruises beneath the skin. Pinning the torn flaps of his ear beneath the strap of his eye patch so they wouldn't bat in his eyes, the General strolled up beside Lord Lasair, looking him over with narrowed eyes.
"I see you look properly rested," he grunted. He opened his mouth again, as if to add something, but after a moment he let his jaw snap shut again, head turning forward.
Swallowing, he leaned down, paws braced against the sand at their feet. His joints ached, and his scars were irritated, and he knew deep down in his heart that this race was a mistake. Even if he could beat Lord Lasair, he'd be sore afterwards, and he'd look weak in front of everyone. Still, he grit his teeth, and when the horns sounded, he launched himself forward.
At first, he thought it was easy - if he didn't think about the pain, he could run. But quickly, he realized just how hard it was to exert himself the way he normally would, and after only a few seconds of sprinting he was slowing, slowing... to a fairly pathetic jog.
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Post by Taurian on Dec 7, 2015 18:27:44 GMT -5
Molan's paws pounded against the sand. The braces held up wonderfully, but they were a bit stiff, and it threw them off. Hopefully as the race progressed the wood would stretch more and loosen up. Out of the corner of their eye, Lord Lasair watched their general tire, and felt a pang of regret for the scarred hare. They turned their head and nodded to a young private on the sideline, who saluted and began to shout, "Go on, General! Give that ol' badger a run for their money!" The shouts rippled through the crowd, and soon more than half of the assembled hares were cheering on Lavenderfur.
Molan had thought to have hares jump in to help the general if he tired too much, but had soon dismissed the idea, knowing what a blow to Lavenderfur's pride it would be.
The badger's ponderous paws thrummed as they ran, fighting the ever-present pains in their legs. The sea, and the finish line, were in sight.
{Hey so I'm here! I'll be allotted some time each week to make my replies, so I'll probably only be able to make three or so replies each week, but I will make them count. I'm sorry if this slows you down a bit, but I'm very glad to be continuing in this RP!}
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Post by Captain Bigwig on Dec 9, 2015 17:57:39 GMT -5
The General couldn't help but notice Lord Lasair's braces from the corner of his eye. They were new - how long had he had them? Had he been saving them for an occasion like this? What were they made out of to support the badger's legs so well? Anger, white-hot anger boiled in Ridgewell's blood. Was that why he challenged him to a race? Because he had a new, fancy trick up his sleeve?
The sudden cheering on his behalf almost pleased him, but he knew they were only doing it because - somehow - he was actually losing to the huge badger who couldn't even walk properly. A sharp pain in his thigh signaled some of his stitches were getting messed up beneath their bandaging, and he exhaled sharply through his nose as he moved. Expressing too much pain would surely be discouraging to the hares watching, and make everyone doubt his rank.
The finish line was so close, and yet so far, and in a fit of blind fury, the General began to push himself again, picking up speed despite his pains. If Lord Lasair was going to win this race, he'd have to earn it.
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Post by Taurian on Dec 10, 2015 13:57:51 GMT -5
Molan saw the hare put on a burst of speed, and grunted. They had been about to let the general win, but the angry vibes from the general woke the badger's competitive spirit. Roaring, they sped up, their braces groaning a bit in response. The pain in their legs intensified, and their eyes narrowed, focusing only on the finish line a few harelengths in front of their paws. They felt, in the moment before they crossed the finish line, the spirits of two badgers running with them, one on either side. It was Cregga, and a blue-eyed badger Molan didn't recognize. And then they were across the finish line, and the moment was broken.
The badger slumped down into the sand, panting. A hare stepped forward and offered them a bucket of water, which Molan promptly dumped over their head. They shook their striped head, and looked over towards the general.
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Post by Captain Bigwig on Dec 11, 2015 14:17:22 GMT -5
The race itself hadn't even lasted a minute.
To the General's aching limbs, it felt like the race had lasted hours.
His one good eye was open but unseeing, paws sinking into the sand, feeling the cool grains against his palms, sticking to his fur. Every breath felt like agony, and he didn't even realize he had sunk to his knees, nose inches from the ground. It was unmistakable. Lord Lasair had won the race, crossing the finish line almost three whole seconds before Ridgewell. The rage roaring inside him disappeared, and he hissed through his teeth.
Another hare came forward, offering water, which the General rejected with a bitter wave of his hand.
How could he possibly live something like this down? Being beaten by a badger in a race. Any hare should've won. But he'd lost. He wouldn't be able to go after the vermin who attacked his men, who killed them. Killed them. Murderers.
He'd be stuck setting boats on fire. With the weakest, youngest members of the Long Patrol. Setting boats on fire. Empty boats. Useless. Pointless. He was pointless.
Pushing himself to his feet, the General grabbed the water suddenly, drinking it down, before sending the hare on his way. Turning to the badger lord, he trembled, fists clenching at his sides, heart pounding loudly in his chest.
"It seems... you've bested me."
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Post by Taurian on Dec 12, 2015 12:06:21 GMT -5
"That appears tae be the case, General," Molan tried not to smile, and nodded for two hares to step forth. They carried a satchel and a bedroll.
"'ere's yer ration pack, sah!" The first hare thrust the satchel towards the general.
"An' yer bedroll, sah." The second held out the object.
"We march at noon. Best be ready tae get goin' by then," Molan said, finally allowing themself to chuckle. They began to walk back up to the mountain, but turned to look back at the general. "Ye dinnae think I'd leave ye behind, did ye, Ridgewell? Yer right, ye are fit tae march with the patrol, an' so ye shall."
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bye!
