Another entry for the Redwall Hell-verse because @raphcrow deserves it and more besides. @thegoldensoundtwice let me know of raph’s thirst, so now you know who to blame for this literally out of nowhere post ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)
The terrain of Hellgates is trapped in a state of constant, tumultuous upheaval, with locations shuffling and changing at random. It is understandable that Hellgates be this way, as it is a geographical reflection of its lord and master, Vulpuz. The beasts committed to roaming its tractless expanse are, in all meanings of the word, eternally lost... except for when, by chance or perhaps by fate, they stumble across a startling landmark: the decrepit husk of a large, dead oak tree, whose dry roots encircle a thriving rosebush bearing striking white blooms. The oak and rose act as the signpost to the lady's tavern; once you find it, you have only to pass it by to enter the lands under her influence.
But, did you know that the oak was once alive and strong, marking the entrance to the afterlife alongside its brother tree? Indeed, Hellgates and Dark Forest were once two parts of the same whole, before that realm was torn asunder and the Lady made her abode upon the very spot where the original Dark Forest gates once stood. Here is the tale of the Lady’s arrival in that realm, containing an account of [the song] her mother and sisters sung to weave the tavern and its pools and gardens into existence.
- - - - - - - - -
The Lady lifted her eyes before the terrible blow fell.
The badger would not look at her, but the sun, Oh! The sun was rising in blinding golden glory from the depths of the sea behind him, and before she could blink the light was swallowing the waters and the pebbled strand and the stiff form of the badger and the barbarous shouting and the weeping and the whistling axe and finally, it swallowed her.
Now the Lady was sitting on naked earth, with nothing and nobeast at her side. All about her swirled an undulating, impenetrable mist. A veil of shadows hung over the Lady's awareness, and even when she prodded, it would not give way. For the first time, she was truly alone.
And the Lady wept. How careful she had been whilst in the company of her fellow creatures, nurturing the depth of her hidden sorrow without even a sigh of resignation. But here, before the threshold of Dark Forest, her tears sought recompense for the seasons. It was only as her grief began to settle into a dull ache within her breast that the Lady became aware she was no longer alone. Her mother had come, emerging silently from the mists, and sat upon the ground a paw's reach away. She had turned her body so as to give the Lady the private intimacy of her grief, but she was there, real and whole, and without a word the Lady threw herself into her mother's waiting arms. Thus the two souls remained, embracing in the company of the mists.
After a while, Leda grasped the Lady's paw, beckoning her to rise and follow. As if by magic, the gloomy murk that had clouded so thickly round them parted, revealing a flat expanse of empty earth that abruptly gave way to nothingness. Off to the right and barely a stone's throw away was the bank of a river, its width so vast the Lady could not see to the other side. A few large, flat stones reared out of the river, punctuating its unnaturally smooth surface. Were it not for the presence of the stones, the water would have appeared to be frozen and unmoving, though the Lady knew intuitively that this hinted at the foreboding depth of the river. No sound rose from those waters, not even from where the river hurled itself in torrential cascades over the very edge of the earth. It was there, close to the edge and atop a little rise in the riverbank, that a magnificent oak tree stood, its lower branches devoid of leaves.
"Firstdaughter, look now upon the emptiness that lies before you," Leda began, gesturing to the sobering scene. "Behold the great abyss into which endless waters flow. I tell you it was not always so... The moment your blood was shed, a fierce cataclysm seized the land, tearing the misted plain asunder. This ageless tree and its twin, heralds of the darkened forest, were permanently separated. One, toppled by the cataclysm, fell into the pit and is no more. The oak standing before us now is all that remains of the original threshold of the halls of the dead; alas, for I fear these roots have borne too much. Already the leaves from the crown of the king do fall." She paused to note the mound of dead oak leaves heaped about the roots of the tree. "Only a husk of memory shall remain here, even as the denizen of will and the harbinger of evil have yet to fulfill their christening of the mountain. This realm has sacrificed its wholeness to account for the unwritten fates of the living." Leda squeezed the Lady's paw gently before letting go. "In the same vein, you have yet to declare yours."
The Lady knelt upon the soil beneath the dying oak. Her mother watched as she swept a paw through the crisp, fallen leaves, scattering them into the wind. She continued to brush the leaves aside until, suddenly, there appeared the stiff green stems of a young rosebush jutting forth from the pale earth betwixt the oak's staunch roots.
"A little bush carries a loud voice, but I wish to hear its thoughts from your lips," urged Leda. "What will you do, Firstdaughter?"
Taking one last glimpse at the leafless rosebush, the Lady stood and drew alongside Leda. "I cannot walk through fields of reeds whose roots are gorged with the blood of creatures for whom I have wept," the Lady said softly. The lines of her mouth were firm as she cupped her mother's paws in her own, raising them up to press them against her lips. "I am afraid not even the wings of your spirit could bear me hence. Let me linger here until my vigilance slips from the mountain, until the last leaf fades from beneath this oak. I hesitate to give voice to it, but I will endure in the hope the oak yet lives."
Leda again embraced her daughter and caressed her face. "Fate came upon you with fangs bared and claws outstretched, and you have made it your boon," she said. "Your spirit has already made its den here. Far be it from me to keep you from where you belong, but, before we depart for the Dark Forest, we must bestow upon you our gift--a hearth for the flame of your soul."
A cry of joy came then carried upon the wind, and the Lady turned to receive the arrivals of four other foxes. One by one they embraced her, clasping her paws and kissing her cheeks. Their golden fur shone in the muted light as the eldest among them cried out, "How fathomless the wellspring of your heart, sister! Do not weep for us, for we were pleased to uphold the truth of your innocence even unto death. We have left the halls of our inheritance to come and sing with you, to sing of the gathering-place of the denizens of power."
Leda gestured in a wide arc to the empty sky, and she and her daughters gathered in a half-circle upon the bank of the soundless river. In breathless anticipation they waited, bodies swaying, until the Lady's voice, raised in song, pierced the silence. Together, they sung of cruel laughter that echoes across the sea, of firelight dancing along curved blades, of ships’ holds fit to bursting with stolen treasures. They sung of innocence plucked from a creature's final breath, of the scent of fresh blood soaking through torn cloth, of the cold gleam of the knife that flashes in the moonlight. They sung of oaths gleefully shattered, of furtive, fearful glances cast over one shoulder, and of pennant banners bearing the emblems of conquerors fluttering in the wind.
Their song rose to meet the mists, spreading outward as the melody increased in volume. Soft, yellowed grass sprang from the bare earth beneath their footpaws, racing along the bank of the river. A foundation of dark stone emerged from the ground, with walls crafted by unseen paws rising stone by stone upon it. Piece by loving piece was the building wrought, and as the final notes of their song faded into memory, her abode was finished. Many were the hours the Lady and her mother and sisters spent singing and speaking the tavern into existence, and it may be said that even to this day she continues to improve upon it, adding and removing such features according to her wont.
Has there been any suggestions on Felldoh’s place in Redwall Hell? If Martin is some sort of demon-type character, than surely Felldoh must be something similar. Maybe he leads the berserker squirrel squad of himself, Ranguvar, and Russa.
Somebeast: You lay upon the blood-soaked dirt of your ruined land. Castles plundered… dominions in ruin… servants destroyed - all to end the hellfire with which you sought to cover the world. A bloody conquest having consumed hundreds of thousands, countless villages razed to the ground, and over 20,000 impaled and prostrated by you and you alone to strike horror into the hearts of mortal men! What say you, monster, demon, devil conceived by the bleakest womb?! WHAT SAY YOU NOW?
i know i haven’t posted in a while but just letting y’all know i’m back and i missed this fandom sm!!! expect regular posting again!! i love you guys and also whoever came up with siren rose to go along with dark martin while i was gone i owe you my life
Thanks to @raphcrow and @thegoldensoundtwice for encouraging me to post this rather than just letting it sit on google docs getting dusty... besides... it's the perfect time of year
It was dark when he stirred from his hiding spot. Bladgut prefered it that way. Darkness meant no burning sun to hurt his eyes, and no busybodies searching around battlegrounds for loved ones. He could return to his master’s army without fear of being caught out in the open. All he had to do was follow the trail of magik, then by the next morning he’d surely be back safe and sound amongst the horde. It was a routine he’d performed many times before; hide underground when the fighting gets bad only to emerge later and rejoin the others. There were always enough new recruits that he could easily slip in unnoticed.
It wasn’t until he was deep in the forest, struggling through underbrush and weeds that he realized something wasn’t right. His master never went anywhere without his horde, and yet there was little evidence of anybeast passing through. Surely his master had not abandoned the horde. The farther he traveled, the more Bladgut felt that something was not right, and he was certain his master must be close by. The scent of wild magiks surrounded him now even thicker than it had lain on the battlefield, almost as tangible as the moonlight filtering through the trees above. He struggled through the underbrush, panic welling up inside him. And then suddenly it was over.
He had emerged into a small clearing, filled with gentle moonlight. A small waterfall fed a crystal pool on the other edge of the space, and the ground was carpeted with thick grass. Bladgut blinked. Curled in the grass at the edge of the water lay a mousemaid, fast asleep. She was a pretty little thing, sleeping there without a care in the world.
She must be under a charm, Bladgut decided, for how else could she sleep cloaked in such dense magik. His master must have set a trap to catch fresh food. He laughed with relief at the thought. Of course, that was why the trail had not been wide. His master had left a trap full of magik, that must have been why it overpowered the real trail. All Bladgut had to do now was continue down the path, which he was sure started again on the other side of the clearing, until he found where his master had rejoined the horde. He was halfway across the clearing when the mousemaid stirred in her sleep. He glanced at her. If she was caught in his master’s trap then trying to do anything to her was clearly out of the question, but perhaps a simple look wouldn’t hurt. It would certainly be something to brag about when he returned to camp. He turned toward the mousemaid.
“The next step you take will be your last.”
Bladgut stopped in his tracks as the voice echoed around the clearing, reverberating off the magik in the air. He looked beyond the maid to the edge of the pool where the shadows fell thick at the forest’s edge. His mouth ran dry.
Two eyes the color of blood stared out at him from the deep shadows. The creature moved and a stray sliver of moonlight glinted off metal.
Bladgut swallowed hard. He was not sure who the creature was, but he was certain that this was not his master. He tried to speak, but found that his tongue no longer worked.
The creature stepped closer until he stood above the maid. It was a mouse of average height and stocky build. His eyes, set into a hollow face, took on an eerie glow in the moonlight. He stood over the maid with sword drawn, silently daring Bladgut to make a sound.
Bladgut sobbed pitifully. It was not his master’s trail he had been following. This mouse reeked of wild magik, as did his sword, across the blade of which ran a line of runes so ancient they could no longer be read. The blade was easily as long as the mouse was tall, yet he carried it in a single paw as though it were a mere feather
The mouse sighed, lifting his sword and testing the edge against a paw pad. He glanced at Bladgut before looking down at the maid. “Do us both a favor,” he said, his voice quiet but commanding, “Try not to scream to loudly. I’d hate for you to wake her up before she’s ready.”
Bladgut sobbed again, tears streaming down his face as his searched desperately for a way out. There was none.
The mouse sighed again, this time rolling his eyes in Bladgut’s direction. “Well rat, are you going to stand there all night?”
Bladget turned and ran. He did not get far.
Martin walked over to the carcass of the slain rat and carefully removed the demon charm that still hung around the remains of its neck. He stared at it for a moment, mildly amused that the rat had carried such a useless thing for protection. It took only a moment to crush the stone to bits, and another moment longer to repair the small amount of damage done to his shielding charm. With the spell firmly back in place, Martin returned to his spot at the forest’s edge to continue watching for intruders. He was tired from the battle, and a wound in his side was begining to itch terribly, but he would not leave his post while his lady slept. He would wait for her to wake before sleeping, and then they would carry on until they found their next battle.
As he settled back into the cool darkness once more, Martin hoped that the next battle would offer a more talented foe, or at least something better than the last lot. Master of Darkness indeed. The fox couldn’t have had more than two score followers with him, and he was no master of any kind. Martin glanced once more at the carcass of the rat and allowed himself a hollow laugh. How the ninny had mistaken the residue of Martin and Rose’s trail for that of his master, Martin would never know. But as annoying as the rat had been, he’d be useful too. Rose did enjoy having a snack ready to go when she woke up, after all.
