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Post by Constable 216D on Mar 2, 2016 17:25:54 GMT -5
((If it's all right with everyone I decided to start with a roll call of sorts, since there's no way Abbot Whittle would know if somebeast was missing... eh heh. After the sound-off gets round the table the Abbot will officially begin the meeting. In other news, here's a link to an ambient sound mixer that matches the atmosphere of Cavern Hole. If you mute the "Fountain" and "dictionary" effects, it's great! Play with the volumes and frequencies to find the mood that suits ya. :3 )) Abbot Whittle shifted uncomfortably in his seat in Cavern Hole, his back and shoulders slightly itchy from the material of the traditional Redwall habit he'd managed to change into. In truth, he had never quite gotten accustomed to how the old highbacked chair felt; secretly he wondered whether he really deserved to sit in the place where the abbots and abbesses of days long past spent some of the most important moments of their lives. Thoughtfully, the Abbot ran his paw along the elaborate carving of one pawrest, his ears turning to catch every sound. With some difficulty, he managed to pick out specific voices from the background noise of Cavern Hole. He noted the voice of Major Rifflerun, the hare's accent cutting through the muted puddles of conversation scattered throughout the room. The robust speech of the Skipper of Otters mingled with the clicking of Tsaron's talons upon the stone floor, along with the rustling of parchment as Mildred presumably readied herself to record the proceedings of the meeting. Abbot Whittle also detected the gentle tone of Cypress the Infirmary Keeper coming from further down the long table by which he sat. Exhaling softly, the Abbot reached out and took up his walking staff, which he promptly rapped thrice against the table edge to gain everybeast's attention. "My friends," he began, his voice clear and strong, "please seat yourselves here at this table so we may proceed." He paused a moment to allow everybeast to find their place. "Ah yes, are there any who are not in attendance who ought to be? Would all of you be so kind as to go around the table and introduce yourselves aloud, for the benefit of an old blind Abbot?" The aged mouse smiled good-naturedly and turned his head to one side. "Shall we begin with whomever is sitting on my left?" |
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Post by Captain Bigwig on Mar 2, 2016 20:40:18 GMT -5
(( That ambiance is lovely ))
Ears twitching atop her head as the Abbot whacked his staff on the wood of the table, she let out a disgruntled huff, trying to settle in her chair. Her frail wrists protruded from her large habit sleeves, a bottle of ink to her left and her quill in her hand. The sudden silence of the room was almost uncomfortable, a sort of sense of finality as everyone realized the time for gossip was over, and the time of strategy was at hand. While Mildred still did not know the full details of the Major's visit, she assumed the very worst, her face grim as she began scribbling a few details about the beasts in attendance. This would likely be one of the most important things she'd ever recorded, and she had to concentrate very hard to keep her old paws from shaking.
Clearing her throat once the Abbot spoke, she replied steadily, "It's Mildred, my old friend."
And then, she turned her head to the beast beside her, adjusting the glasses atop her nose.
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Post by Margorr on Mar 3, 2016 2:19:36 GMT -5
Seated next to Mildred was Major Rifflerun. The hour between his initial meeting with the Abbot and the start of this council had been one of the longest hours of his entire life. He'd preoccupied himself by wandering around the Abbey, making sure there were wall guards, and that his hares had eaten and were taking care of themselves. He'd then sat down in Cavern Hole, patiently waiting for the other participants to file in. He recognized a few of them from previous visits. Tsaron the gatekeeper, Mildred the Recorder, and of course the Abbot. He was unfamiliar with the Skipper, and only barely knew Cypress, but he figured if they were here they were capable and wise beasts.
Standing up, Major Rifflerun addressed the Abbot. "Major Boggsorly Rifflerun of the Long Patrol, sah."
He took a seat once he'd introduced himself, then patiently waited for the rest of the table to do the same.
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Post by jinxwolf34 on Mar 3, 2016 16:02:17 GMT -5
Streamflower snapped to attention, a formality even though the old mouse could not see her. "Skipper Streamflower of the Streamdog Clan. And the Captain of my Scouts, Turlien. It is a both a pleasure and an honor to be here." The young Skipper was practically wiggling in place, rudder shifting with excitement. For a moment she forgot there was a vermin horde outside the Abbey walls. For now she was in Redwall speaking to the Abbot. With a Long Patrol major as well! Streamflower stopped wriggling like a hyper dibbun and straightened back out. It was time to be serious. She looked to the rest of the group.
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mads
Dibbun
Posts: 49 
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Post by mads on Mar 3, 2016 16:13:41 GMT -5
Cypress was next, sitting calmly at his seat beside the otters with both paws folded on the table in front of him. He was incredibly curious about what was going to happen, and was feeling some anxiety, but he knew that everyone would do their best to make sense of this situation, and that he had to remain calm if he wanted to help- a lesson learned from seasons working in the infirmary.
"Cypress Deeproot, infirmary keeper." He said simply. His voice was just barely left with any Salamandastron accent.
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Post by Captain Bigwig on Mar 3, 2016 16:46:55 GMT -5
Twitching beside Cypress, Dianthus looked around at the beasts gathered beside him. They were... underwhelming, from a military standpoint. He always heard tales of the gentle nature of the Redwallers, and he'd been near the Abbey in his younger days, but this was all so strange. A bunch of frail, old mice, timid goodbeasts, and wily otters were hardly what he expected. And now, graced with the honor of being invited to this meeting by the Major, he realized he was holding up the processions, caught up in his thoughts.
Clearing his throat, Dianthus stood to attention, eyes narrowed as he declared, "Corporal Dianthus Dancepaw of the Long Patrol reporting, sah!"
Offering a short salute to the Abbot, even though the old creature was quite blind, Dianthus sat once more, doing his best to keep totally still and silent. He would not ruin his chance to at least attempt to please the Major.
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Post by Taurian on Mar 5, 2016 7:42:56 GMT -5
{Sorry, I didn't see this tread until now}
Tsaron cleared their throat and announced, "Tsaron Wisebeak, Father Abbot." The owl turned to the young hare sitting beside them. "Dianthus, eh?" They asked in a low voice, as not to disturb the council proceedings. "Ye look a spry young'un. 'ow's the Patrol been treatin' ye? I rememberin my younger days I'd see the Long Patrol as I was hunting. I've met a few officers, but they all talked about old Lord Tokal, an' I take it the ol' badger died some time ago."
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Post by Constable 216D on Mar 7, 2016 19:51:38 GMT -5
The Abbot found himself alternately courting a plethora of emotions as he took in the voices belonging to the creatures sitting around the table. When Mildred cleared her throat to speak, a graceful flower of gratitude and brotherly affection bloomed deep within his heart. The Major came next, his introduction brusque and polite, the rustling of fabric and fur communicating to Abbot Whittle that the hare had stood to speak. It almost made the old harvest mouse chuckle, were it not for the seriousness of their meeting. The voice of the Skipper of Otters woke the Abbot up a bit, bestowing upon him a hint of the young female otter's energy. Cypress's tone contrasted sharply with that of the Skipper, reminding the Abbot that this was a council of many minds. A voice he did not recognize followed the Infirmary Keeper's greeting. The accent suggested a Salamandastron hare, but it was certainly not that of the Major. Abbot Whittle briefly wondered if this might be the voice of a beast vital to the Long Patrol. He did not have long to muse on the thought, however, for Tsaron's voice sounded just to the Abbot's right, indicating that the introductions had completed their lap round the table. Abbot Whittle nodded slowly, turning his impressions of each voice over in his mind.
How blessed I am, and how unworthy, to be given the position of Abbot at such a time as this, with such comrades as these. Please, lend me your wisdom, ye who have occupied this chair in seasons long before me.
"My friends," the Abbot repeated aloud, "you have been summoned so that we may hear the news borne to us by Major Rifflerun of Salamandastron. I ask that all questions and comments be withheld until the Major has shared his story in full."
The Abbot turned his head sharply, his orange-flecked nose pointed directly at Major Rifflerun. "Major, I give you the floor."
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Post by Margorr on Mar 8, 2016 15:25:41 GMT -5
The Major stood up again, once he had the full attention of the room. He made a mental note to speak slowly, to be sure the old mouse recorder would be able to keep up with what he said.
"Thank you Father. Now then, 'round about three weeks ago, we sent a group of hares out on Patrol. They were to report back in a few days, standard Long Patrol stuff really. They never came back, and a rescue patrol was sent. The rescue patrol returned, with significant losses and only one hare of the original patrol, a young recruit. He and the General reported the same thing. Ambushed by vermin." He paused to allow that to sink in, and to make sure Mildred was keeping up.
"What we know about the vermin is this. They came in ships, I've no idea how many there are, though it'd be safe to guess a few hundred. The only vermin identified was a silver furred wildcat with a hook for 'is left paw. I'd stake m'life on that one bein' their leader.
My patrol took the fastest route to Redwall, we managed to dodge the vermin, but we do know they are headed this way. Lord Lasiar is tracking them as we speak, and my patrol will be here to defend the Abbey if the scum make it this far. For now I say we lay low, start taking stock and making rations. I've got guards on the walls already, we've got to make sure everybeast is prepared for the worst."
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mads
Dibbun
Posts: 49
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Post by mads on Mar 8, 2016 22:38:27 GMT -5
Cypress' head immediately filled with lists of items that the infirmary would need to gather to be ready for a potential siege. A lot of things grew within the gardens of the abbey, but there were things that could only be found out in the woods. He made a mental note to ask someone to go with him after this meeting to get the supplies.
"Do you know what they want?" He asked steadily. "We don't have much, but I suppose that the idea of such an easily defensible position as our abbey is alluring."
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Post by jinxwolf34 on Apr 4, 2016 10:09:41 GMT -5
Streamflower snorted from her place in the group. "Well what do vermin usually want? Pillage and plunder, that's all they do. We had a horde of them last winter try to take the Streamdog camp and treasure trove. It weren't much but it ain't nothing to sneeze at. Drove 'em off right quick but they always come 'round."
Turlien nodded sagely, remembering the skirmish outside the clan's land. "Tried to come in the dead of night. But we sent them running to their mums, tails between their legs."
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Post by Taurian on Apr 9, 2016 14:40:42 GMT -5
Tsaron shook their head, frowning, as much as an owl could frown, in disapproval. "It makes one sick t' think o' the lives wasted under the onslaught o' vermin," they muttered to Dianthus. "The abbey is an incredibly defensible position, fer one," they spoke now to the group at large. "It has numerous legends surroundin' it, and since, as the Major says, they came by sea, it is quite probable that they're pirates, an' pirates are always huntin' after legends and prophecies. But th' why doesn't matter so much as how we're going to deal wi' the impending attack."
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Post by Constable 216D on Apr 27, 2016 17:41:58 GMT -5
((NPC Long Patrol Hare included in this post. Will elaborate on situation if needed/prompted by PCs)).
Fear gripped the Abbot at the Major's news, twin claws of icy foreboding digging into his heart. He clutched the rounded tip of his walking staff in his paws as he listened intently to the talk of those seated at the table. His concentration was frayed, alternating between the council of war and the sudden ache that had settled into his neck and shoulders. Abbot Whittle was intimately familiar with that type of soreness; it was a dull, grating pain that only came about when a thunderstorm was on the way. A long and low rumble sounded above Streamflower's vermin comment, confirming the cause of the Abbot's psychic ache. He shook his head to remind himself of the task at hand.
"Tsaron speaks wisely, as do all those at this table." The Abbot's voice was deeply thoughtful. "Though we do not know when this warlord will arrive, we must prepare Redwall as best we are able. There is yet to be a vermin in Mossflower's history who has not lusted after this Abbey." He turned in the direction from whence the Major's voice had originated. "Major, I thank you and your hares for coming to warn us of this danger. Redwall and its creatures will look to you to guide us through this..."
The Abbot's entreaty faded into silence as the sounds of shouts of alarm and rapid pawsteps echoed into Cavern Hole from Great Hall. A single hare, her Long Patrol tunic disheveled from rapid movement, came bounding down the steps in a rush of heavy breathing and flailing limbs. Swiftly the hare collected herself, snapping to attention without adjusting her uniform. She focused her eyes on the ceiling and barked aloud, "Sah! There's a horde of vermin waiting just outside the gates!"
A stentorian clap of thunder followed the hare's report, filling the stunned silence of Great Hall like the terrible, deep-throated toll of a bell.
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Post by jinxwolf34 on Apr 27, 2016 18:25:32 GMT -5
Streamflower's small ears rasied as much as possible at the news. Ever the leader, she snapped to action without thinking. "Turlien, rally the Streamdogs. We might need to fight them off."
Turlien nodded, grabbing his weapon and spinning to leave the cavern hole and find his clan.
Streamflower turned back to the Abbot and Major, standing at attention with her trident in paw. "What are your orders sirs? While we're in your walls and eating your food, the Streamdogs are at your command."
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Post by Margorr on Apr 27, 2016 18:37:04 GMT -5
The news of the arrival of the vermin sent a cold wave of fear through the Major. They had beaten the vermin by mere hours to the Abbey. They had probably marched right past them on the way to Redwall. He was glad they had gotten here first. Now was not the time to dwell on such things. He addressed the haremaid who had delivered the news.
"Thank you marm! Return to y'post now!" He then turned his attention to the Skipper when asked for orders.
"Hold fast, don't go attackin' them yet if we're not under attack. I'll escort th' Abbot out. Few times Salamandastron's had t' deal with the bigger hordes, the leader always wants words. " He explained as he made his way to the Abbot's side, lightly placing a hand on the mouse's shoulder. "Allow me to walk with you t' the wall, Father? I know you can probably make it y'self but I don't want you unprotected."
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bye!
