Dahlia takes a moment between courses to rush over to her parents and show them the lovely soft cloak that the abbot gave her, and also show it to her sisters when they rush over. She eyes the High Seer warily, for she has heard that foxes are dangerous and imposing, and she wonders what sort of gift he would bestow them.
When she returns to the guest table, she shares the feast with her new companions and looks over their gifts admiringly. She swallows and bravely speaks to the badger. "Such a well-made talisman that looks to be. We are indeed fortunate to share this adventure with you, friend!" she chirps. "With all of us," she adds. "Why, I feel already that Martin has blessed us. With such an august company of rangers we cannot help but succeed on our mission."
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Indeed, my dear, we shall see sights beyond imagination and adventure to remind us that we are alive!
After returning to the table, Squakowk seemed to revert back into the jovial nobleman that first entered the Great Hall.
Though I must say, we should all head to my home of Delrany Manor, where the final preparations for our expedition will be made.
Upon finishing this sentence, there is a brief glint in the dodo’s eyes that betrays a deep sorrow.
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After stowing his gifted gloves away while he eats, Rowan's snout scrunches in confusion at Squakowk's revelation.
"Delrany Manor? Where is that? I thought when we left here tomorrow is when the expedition starts. Honestly, I'm dying to know what secret knowledge the High Seer will reveal."
Kizzirark grits his teeth and musters all his strength not to hiss and growl. Smiles and laughs and lies. He shakes his head and returns to his seat, tossing the gift on the table.
When she returns to the guest table, she shares the feast with her new companions and looks over their gifts admiringly. She swallows and bravely speaks to the badger. "Such a well-made talisman that looks to be. We are indeed fortunate to share this adventure with you, friend!" she chirps. "With all of us," she adds. "Why, I feel already that Martin has blessed us. With such an august company of rangers we cannot help but succeed on our mission."
Kizzirark pushes the belt towards the mouse. "If you liked it, you can keep it... and you are mistaken, dear. Oh, you are far from fortunate." He then takes his mug and empties it in large gulps. Once that is done, he gets to his feet and leaves the feast. The gift stays on the table.
Tawnystripe looks at the badger in fascination as he stalks away from the table
"I think that one may have, uh, issues."
He turns to Rowan
"I know nothing of a High Seer. What is he? What kind of things does he know?"
He turns to Rowan
"I know nothing of a High Seer. What is he? What kind of things does he know?"
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After stowing his gifted gloves away while he eats, Rowan's snout scrunches in confusion at Squakowk's revelation.
"Delrany Manor? Where is that? I thought when we left here tomorrow is when the expedition starts. Honestly, I'm dying to know what secret knowledge the High Seer will reveal."
“Delrany Manor lies to the north of here, through a short tunnel that leads to a subtropical forest.”
Dahlia watches Kizzirark depart, a glum expression on her face. Well, that went worse than I expected, she thinks. She looks at the others, reaches over and takes the belt, and murmurs, "I will hold onto this for him. Perhaps he will change his mind."
"I was talking with him earlier. I don't presume to know him pretty well, but maybe his outlook will improve if he is able to get out from under the other badgers' direct watch."
He takes a sip of his drink while giving the side eye to Sammson the Badger Lord. He said something to Kizziark, and anyone up on the dais could tell it wasn't exactly motivational, even if they couldn't hear everything that was exchanged.
He turns to Rowan
"I know nothing of a High Seer. What is he? What kind of things does he know?"
High Seer Zjeva is the closest thing - at least that you know of - to a "ruler" among the scattered, disparate, and often squabbling and duplicitous Fox clans. She's a much older specimen of their kind, her once-vibrant red fur now having faded to a distinguished grey with auburn undercoat. She is said to be wise, cunning, and standoffish from the disputes of the various clans, making her as much the closest thing to a neutral party and arbitrator, hence likely why she's respected the way she is.
Like many Foxes, Zjeva claims to have mystical powers, both in her capacity as a physician, alchemist, and healer, and in her role as High Seer, being able to read the stars and the signs to divine the future.
What this means for you all is anyone's guess.
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As the night draws on, Squakowk heads back to the Abbot and places his fencing sword on the table nearest to the head priest.
“I fear that I did not make myself clear to you, and I apologise for that, I wish to give you my fencing sword - which I had made for myself after winning my 100th tournament some 20 years ago - as a gesture of friendship and a memento. There is a different sword that I shall use on this adventure, and you are welcome - as is your fellow clergymen - to come to Delrany Manor in the morning sunshine tomorrow as we will make the final preparations there.”
With that, Squakowk returns to his table to enjoy the rest of the feast before heading home to sleep.
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"Your gift is most appreciated, Lord Delrany," the Abbot replies with another small bow of his head. "It shall be hung in a place of honor here in our Halls, as an emblem of the friendship between us and a memory of this day." Eleine takes the blade as bid, placing it carefully opposite her own blade on her hip.
The night wends on, with people slowly drifting out of the Great Hall after dessert is served and the official festivities come to an end. Rooms have been provided in the guest wings of the Abbey for those of the honored six who were not already residents of Redwall, each simply furnished but suited to the needs of each respective guest.
Presuming none wish to take any actions during the night, all passes uneventfully, the evening remarkably serene and restful despite the boisterous and lively nature of the feast gathering. All is calm and quiet until the first bells are rung at dawn.
Dahlia returns home after the banquet, where her sisters and mother make a big fuss over the cloak she was gifted by the abbot. "How well you shall look in it, Dahlia!" her mother coos, while Camellia tries to hide her jealousy by poking her head beneath it and crying out, "Doesn't it match my coloring, mama?" Poppy starts an argument about how it goes better with her own fur, and while they are bickering and her mother throws up her hands in frustration, Dahlia leaves them to say good-bye to her father in his study.
"Well my dear," he says warmly, "before you go, let me look at that belt your large and fearsome companion refused. Oh yes, I saw that interaction, though perhaps not everyone did! You may have a spot of bother convincing him to trust you, but it is a worthy goal to do so, for they say that badgers are fierce in their loyalty as well as their protection. Come come, dear one, give me a hug and a kiss, and say fare-well, for I doubt we will be see you in the morning. Promise us you will write!"
Dahlia tearfully promises, and then returns to insist that she needs the cloak back from her sisters. Lily calmly wishes her well on her adventure, looking up only briefly from her book, and Dahlia hugs everyone before retiring for the night. In the morning, she wakes just before the sun rises, and makes ready to leave just as she hears the Prime bells begin to ring. She kisses Lily on the forehead, who is still bundled in her seat by the cold fire, and departs the house to join her new companions at the arranged spot.
With years of self-control drilled into him by the teachers of two different disciplines, Rowan is already awake when he hears the morning bells ring. He notes that the serenity of Abbey in the early morning is an ideal environment for focusing his mind on his daily arcane preparations. When he finishes confirming the last of his spells to his mind, he closes his spellbook and carefully stows it away. He exits his room and wanders the abbey, enjoying its tranquility before he is to meet with the others.
Breakfast - even for those who take it in the Great Hall rather than alone in their quarters or with family - is a calm, small affair compared to the riotous celebrations of the feast the prior night; likely a welcome boon for those of the group less used to Redwall's great celebrations and the crowded gathering of the prior eve. There are still guests aplenty to be fed the day after, though, and it's clear the kitchen staff have been hard at work since well before the first bell to ensure victuals are available for all.
Nevertheless, time marches on as the hares say, and the hour of departure arrives at last. The six stalwarts are eventually directed toward the gates after a final opportunity to say farewells to family, gather their belongings, and ensure no one is too lost within Redwall's halls to make their way to the appropriate exits.
Thus you all have come to the path between the Great Hall and the gatehouse at the abbey's exit, passing one last time through the gardens and the orchard amidst the morning labors of the brothers and sisters of the abbey even at this morning hour. Mice, moles, squirrels, and hedgehogs already move and scurry about the outer lawns on this or that task, sparing your passing a respectful nod or curious glance but too occupied with their own duties to do more than give you a recognizing moment. The exception, as always, are the dibbuns - the younglings are prone to stop their games and play and stare curiously and almost worshipfully at the passing "heroes", too awed to speak or ask many questions but too starstruck to look away.
Save for those awaiting at the gatehouse itself. There are the usual guards and lookouts moving up and down the walls and gatherers and trackers passing in and out of the gates on their duties, but within the gate itself await unmoving, patient faces. The Abbot himself is present again, no longer accompanied by the swordmaid or the Sparra who flanked him at last night's festivities, but now accompanied instead by Badger Mother Ardulia, who takes up about as much space as the other two combined and then some. And just opposite them, wrapped in her colorful shawl, stands High Seer Zjeva, a cunning grin on her vulpine muzzle as she toys with a deck of strange cards in her paws.
The three of them are clearly awaiting you, one final meeting before you depart Redwall Abbey - possibly for good, and certainly for quite a long while to come.
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Squakowk breathes deeply, taking in all the happenings of the day, his jovial voice bidding all a good day and - ironic as it may be - wishing them well for the rest of the day. He has a different attire on today, a blue coloured suit and a red tricorn hat (though his travel pack clearly indicates that he has his other outfit and a few others). Squakowk still has the Sparra signet ring on a chain around his neck, but the most striking feature is the sword that he carries. The sword in question is completely jet black from the tip of the blade to the bottom of the hilt, the hilt is further decorated with an intwining pattern of small diamonds, emeralds and rubies. But the strangest thing about the sword is that, though it is completely mundane, it has an almost palpable aura of sorrow attached to it. As Squakowk reaches the three awaiting figures, his jovial manner switches yet again to a somber one, he gives them a collective nod of his head.
Good morning Abbot, Badger Mother Ardulia, High Seer Zjeva, I hope you are all well today. I’m sorry we couldn’t finalise everything at Delrany Manor, but it does possess a most festive interior and would no doubt be quite distracting. Nonetheless, I am ready to begin the journey, and I’m sure my fellow adventurers are ready as well! And High Seer, I recognise those cards, having a set of my own.
Rowan decidedly does not make a comment about how the nobility were allowed to keep their weapons inside the abbey, but the rest of the party were not. He pulls his new magical gloves snug and waits patiently to hear what the three dignitaries have to say. He is ready to begin their journey as soon as the wisdom is shared, however.
Dahlia bows to the abbot, and looks warily but respectfully to the badger and fox. "Indeed, we seem to be ready to embark on this momentous journey. Do you have additional instructions for us?" She asks this meekly, with a bolstering look at her companions
Kizzirark slumbers on, dragging his paws and squinting at the sun, as if it rose up just to vex him. Not in a particularly bright mood, he sips from a flask as he awaits for the three dignitaries to say their piece.
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"It is good to see you all well and ready for the journey to come," the Abbot replies politely, bowing his head slightly to the gathered six as they step into the gatehouse and gather for their likely final meeting before heading out into the great unknown. "Ardulia and I are merely here to give you one last wish of farewell, but the High Seer wishes to distribute her gift to you all as promised, here in the comfortable privacy of your first steps out of Redwall with the two of us to serve as witnesses."
"Just so," Zjeva responds with a nod and another toothy smile reminiscent of the one from the night before. "His Lordship is familiar with the talismans I use for my work, but for the rest of you I shall provide a simple explanation. In my role as High Seer, I am gifted with the opportunity, and the responsibility, of knowledge and secrets of the times to come. My gift to each of you, in turn, is to cast my eye to the future of your journey and divine what useful knowledge I can, that you may be forewarned and forearmed of what troubles, trials, and tests await you." The cards in her paws begin to move rapidly as she shuffles them over and over as she speaks. "Our seers make use of various different talismans for such - some read the remnants of tea leaves, some study the shadows and the winds, some gaze into the depths of pools and ponds, some cast the bones or sticks and read how they land. I read my perceptions as divined through the cards."
"Know, first and foremost, that even I cannot see all - the widest gaze of the times yet to come is the purview only of Vulpuz himself, to whom my talents are as but a drop in the ocean." She gives a small chuckle at this, though from the looks of the Abbot and the Badger Mother whatever is so funny is lost on them.
The fox continues after a few moments. "As such, what little I can provide you - while I hope it may aid you in your trials to come - is but a glimpse of a moment, a ripple in a pond, a touch of the wind on a leaf, a breath in the vastness of time. Know this, and use the knowledge wisely."
She pauses, eyes alight, as if waiting for the group's assent or confirmation of understanding before she begins her work.
Rowan leans forward in interest, more interested in seeing the foretelling happen than in any actual information to be gained.
Dahlia's eyes widen as the High Seer explains his role and the power he wields. Despite her lingering distrust, she finds herself drawn in as he speaks, and hardly breathing she nods raptly for him to continue.
Kizzirark manages to shrug. "No disrespected, but I have never believed such... things. But do your thing."
Tawny looks at the High Seer
"Please proceed. I'd love to know a little bit of my future. But before you proceed, tell me. Is the future you fortell doomed to occur or, with foreknowledge, can we change it? Or, at the least, reduce or enhance its impact?"
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The fox spreads the deck across her paws and with a flick of pads and claws holds them out for each to draw one of the cards. She allows each to select one of the cards from the face-down deck, though for those who choose not to she selects a card on their behalf.
Her gaze turns first to eager Rowan, holding up a card bearing a disc ringed by various animals in gesturing positions. "For you, the Wheel of Fortune. Expect change in your life, and swiftly. Fate, destiny, and synchronicity, all to align - positive change and good fortune evident. You will have important choices to make - you must trust your intuition. If you feel events seem to be evolving without much input from you, trust your instincts and go with the gentle stream."
She turns the second card for Dahlia, revealing an image of a fox in a flowing gown and holding a scepter or stave in one hand and a scroll in the other. "Aha, the High Priestess. Your intuition is strong - allow for flexibility and you may expect promising outcomes. Listen carefully to your will and conscience and trust them completely, embrace the power that lies within."
The third card drawn goes to Lord Delrany. It depicts the belltower of Redwall Abbey amidst a thunderstorm, lightning flashing against the bells. "Mmm, an ominous card, the Tower. Seek not to control events - grasp too strongly and they just won't go your way. Unexpected challenges, upheaval, and disappointment may bring your expectations to an end. Use the opportunity of change to arrange for a new beginning. Seek not to walk the roads you know - to turn home is to experience setback."
The fourth is drawn for Kizzirark, and displays a squirrel dangling upside-down from a tree branch, his foot caught in a noose trap. "The Hanged Man. Cease to allow yourself to be victimized or blackmailed by others, nor to play the martyr. Release your grasp, do not try to cling to someone or something for the wrong reasons - something has to go. Clear your mind and surrender to the whim of fate, and your end shall be better: good luck and fortune await, after a period of struggle and heartache."
A fifth card is drawn at last for Tawnystripe as the fox gives the cat a sly smile. "The cards show but a moment in time - it is up to you to take the knowledge you are gifted with and make the most of that moment, for good or for ill. Now let us see...." She turns the cards, revealing a mouse walking along a meandering forest path, dressed in simple garb and carrying a small bindle on a walking stick. "Oho! The Fool. Beware impetuousness and impulse, they may cost you dearly. Draw upon the knowledge and experience not only of yourself but those alongside you - perhaps there is naivete and immaturity behind your current path. Look onwards and upwards, not to flee from your past but to stride into your future. Look before you leap."
She raises her head, glancing about and counting over the group. "It appears the lady of flame will not be joining you on your excursion. In her absence I shall draw once more, and give you the message it contains... perhaps, on the road to come, you will find the one for whom it is meant, be it the lady lizard or another." She shuffles the deck once more, then selects a card at random with her eyes closed; she raises it in her claws and turns it to face the party, displaying the image of a badger lord in full regalia upon the throne of Salamandastron. "Justice. Decisions may go in your favor, particularly regarding partnerships to come. Good luck and reward for deeds past will come your way, but be not overambitious, for success may take time. Be assertive but not aggressive, positive but not naive. Welcome aid, but be not reliant on others to solve your problems for you - they will either be of aid or leave you to solve things yourself, but do not let them seize undue command."
Satisfied, the cards disappear into her robe sleeves as swiftly as they were summoned, and the High Seer gives a sweeping bow to the group. "May the fates look kindly upon you and the journey to come, and may the knowledge we have gifted be of use in the days undawned." Without another word, nor wait for response, she turns and departs, bushy tail flashing as she exits Redwall and disappears out of the gatehouse, leaving the party with their thoughts and the opportunity for final words from the Abbot and Badger Mother.
Muttering to Kizzirark next to him, Rowan lowers his voice so that, hopefully, the Abbot and Badger Mother cannot hear: "...I mean, most of that was just sound advice, not fortune telling. Expect change, trust your instincts, don't get blackmailed."
Rowan shrugs.
"Thank you, I'll treasure your words and heed them carefully" he says, leaving others to wonder whether he is being sarcastic, sincere, or perhaps both at the same time
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The third card drawn goes to Lord Delrany. It depicts the belltower of Redwall Abbey amidst a thunderstorm, lightning flashing against the bells. "Mmm, an ominous card, the Tower. Seek not to control events - grasp too strongly and they just won't go your way. Unexpected challenges, upheaval, and disappointment may bring your expectations to an end. Use the opportunity of change to arrange for a new beginning. Seek not to walk the roads you know - to turn home is to experience setback."
Squakowk looks at the card and a distinct glimmer in his eye seems to betray something that appears to be…confirmation of a suspicion?
“Thank you, High Seer, I will take your advice to heart and let my actions define my fate as I head towards my destiny.”
With a barely repressed sigh, and a glance at his sword, Squakowk steps aside to let the others have prominence.
Dajali and Ardulia watch her depart, their expressions displaying mingled bemusement, slight confusion, and reserved patience. The Badger Mother shakes her great head with a slight grunt. "A whole feast's worth of mumbo-jumbo, that was, if you ask me." She turns to the group and gives a wave of her massive paw over them, expression stern. "What really matters about the future is that it's what you make of it. Your journey to come is one full of opportunities, of dangers, and of trials and triumphs. It's up to you five to make the most of it - pull yourselves together, work as a team, and seek the greatest potential in what you have to find. You'll face hardships and troubles, oh you will, but you're all skilled and clever young lads and lasses - I've no doubt in my heart of hearts that you'll manage to find your way."
"I could not have said it better myself," the Abbot adds with a sharp nod to his companion. "And nor can I think of better final parting words for you all. Know that the ancestors and the well-wishes of all of Mossflower watch over you in your travels to come."
With that the two likewise stand aside, to allow you five to pass out of Redwall Abbey at last. The guards at the gate and along the walls above give salutes, waves, gestures of encouragement, and calls of warm farewells as the five daring chosen leave the safety of the Abbey's walls and take their first steps into the distant unknown.
The Deep Green awaits at the end of the road ahead.
Rowan pauses as he considers the Abbot's words of farewell. He nods purposefully and pulls the straps tight on his pack. Staff in hand, he looks at the others.
"Let's go!"
He walks out of the abbey gates.
Dahlia ponders the deeper meaning of the cards as she finds herself bowing farewell to the abbot and his advisors. "Listen carefully to your will and conscience and trust them completely, embrace the power that lies within," she thinks. "Trust my conscience?" Well, yes, I must do this. This is good advice, as general as it is. She frowns. But "Embrace the power that lies within?" Just what does the fox say with this? I have no power within, my contribution to this group is my humble and dutiful behavior, due to my upbringing, and tempered with my family's long history with the abbey. I have no inner voice like Martin! The spirits of my ancestors are silent. Perhaps she was mistaken about me?
Absorbed in these thoughts, she almost forgets to wave to everyone as they leave the gates, but she remembers and draws her sword to give a formal salute from the road to the Deep Green. "Farewell! Farewell, until we meet again!" she calls, unsure if they can hear her. Then she turns to face the adventure ahead, and steps quickly to keep pace with her larger companions.
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Squakowk chooses to walk near the front of the group, but not the actual front as he does not wish to be team leader. Instead, he will let another have the honour. After waving goodbye and returning the fond farewells, the moment he steps through the gates, his jovial demeanour returns once more.
”Well, my fine friends, the path heads eastward. I believe that there is a small farming settlement on the outskirts of what is officially the Redwall territory.”
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Tawnystripe proudly strides out
"Lets go! This will be fun!!!. I'll sing us a travel song"
With that he proceeds to start singing. And singing. And singing.
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Three days leads the road from Redwall Abbey to the last point of known civilization in Mossflower Wood. The road that winds along the the Eastern Great South Stream and its tributaries, past Nt. Ninian's and Brockhall, beyond the Camp of Alfon and the Inland Lake. A road less traveled, as few there are who delve into the unknown lands of the Deep Green, and fewer there be who would travel this far and either not turn back or not progress on and disappear into the unknown.
At the farthest reach of the South Stream Road, well beyond the point where it ceases to be identifiable as an actual road any further and continued travel is guided mostly by the absence of thicker foliage and the meandering trail of the stream itself, stands a single structure. Not even a town, but rather a simple wooden palisade marked with old stone towers at the corners. Perhaps once an old fort or outpost, judging by the weathered look of the stones, dating back years upon years - they could be older than the stones of Redwall itself, for all you know.
No flag flies from those walls, neither from the palisade nor the towers. Keen-eyed travelers can see the easternmost tower is home to a run-down catapult, aimed further downstream, but from here you can't tell if it is equipped with any form of ammunition. Whether this is solely a remnant of the tower's former purpose or still a mechanism in use by its current residents remains to be seen; neither answer is particularly obvious.
Along the southern wall, the waterward edge, stands the structure's only door. The large wooden barricade is currently raised, allowing the travelers to enter the walls without further obstruction. Within are several smaller buildings, similar in construction - old stone barracks converted into more civil uses, supplemented with newer wooden structures built alongside or in place of structures demolished by force or by time.
It is from atop one of the latter - a small guesthouse just to the right of the entrance - that the travelers are greeted by the first sign of intelligence since they departed Redwall: the hammering of a craftsmouse at work.
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Bertram:
You knew in advance that something about the celebrations to come were a bit off in ways that most of your fellow denizens wouldn't quite be able to understand. Your Friends, for the first time in your short life, urged you to take up your meager possessions and set out from Redwall Abbey, despite the rumblings of the feast to come and the knowledge it would be one for the histories and you were going to miss out on its glorious delectables.
For the first two days on the road, the constant mantra in your mind was "This better be worth it."
You, of course, knew all about this - or at least, enough to know when you'd reached where you were meant to be. You knew to follow the rough trails left by hunters and foragers and to keep the susurrus of the stream to your right at all times.
You only broke off from this trail once, when Your Friends suddenly urged you northward without any rhyme or reason, and pointed you toward a particular old willow with a hollowed-out bole in its trunk. You weren't honestly certain what to expect there, but Your Friends had never steered you wrong, and this was hardly an exception. You found something there, something you were certain had been left there specifically for you.
Aura faint evocation; CL 1st; Slot neck; Weight —
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[u]Description:[/u]
This brass medallion has been polished to a near-mirror sheen, and seems to constantly be untouched by weather, rust, verdigris, or dust. One side bears an emblem of a pair of trees growing in opposite directions, their roots entwined; the other bears a picture of a woman's head in profile, though you cannot tell if she is supposed to be a mouse, a badger, a ferret or otter, or a fox.
So long as it is worn, the bearer gains one extra use of Channel Energy per day.
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With this strange trinket in hand, you took back to the road, and arrived here two days prior. The hosts were a bit surprised to see a lone traveler who wasn't dressed as a woodsmouse, especially one with a walking stick in hand and who clearly couldn't see too far in the distance, but have refrained from pressing you with questions - you're not yet certain if due to politeness restraining their curiosity or if it's simple disinterest.
Your time here since has been relatively peaceful, though something has your hosts on edge ever since your arrival. They keep looking to both the east and the west as if in expectation, though never volunteer any reason as to why. Today they seem to have discarded this in favor of finding other things to occupy their time: one has been at work in the kitchen most of the morning, while the other awoke you shortly after dawn (if you weren't already up by then yourself) with hammering on the roof, and has been at it all day since.
And if that wasn't enough to spice up your day, Your Friends tell you more guests are coming soon.
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After two days of wandering about within the palisade, Bertram was becoming familiar and somewhat comfortable with the buildings in the modest fort. The proprietors felt a little standoffish, but Bertie was used to being the cause of some apprehension… as if his blindness was somehow contagious. Still, he kept his senses open, trying to determine if their ill-ease was his fault or some other concern. They doubtless had many worries on the edge of the Deep Green. Ferreting out which one this might be was a good distraction while he waited for the next steps in his journey.
But patience requires practice… so the Oracle perks up when old Xochitl is the first to announce ‘guests’ are coming. Unlike mortal friends, the spirits have clear priorities. Who is whispering in his ear is just as important as what is being said. The First Father delivering this news meant these were people with which Bertram needed to establish a good footing.
To relieve his anxiety, he straightens his burnoose and adjusts the lay of the hood a half dozen times. He finds a spot in the sun and lightly leans against the palisade’s inner wall, his clothes blending in with the wooden structure. Then, he waits and silently practices his introductory words…
Standing to one side, near the rough-hewn wall, is a light brown mouse in a dark brown traveling burnoose. Beneath the burnoose are glimpses of medium brown leather armor. Even his walking stick – more of a cane really – is a rich brown. Brown seems to be a theme for the slender mouse. The only pop of color on him is a liberal splash of white around his nose and whiskers that goes down his neck before vanishing beneath his attire. At first glance, it looks like he sloppily guzzled a glass of cream and didn’t bother to wash up afterwards. The far more startling pops of color are his milky white eyes. The pupils are difficult to see, making it nearly impossible to determine where – or if – he is actually looking at anything. But, as the group approaches, the angle of his nose shifts until he is generally pointing in the explorers’ direction.
He wrings the neck of his cane a little nervously and offers a quick half-bow roughly towards the team. ”” jumps out of him a little too eagerly before he masters his nerves. ”I’m, um, Bertram Bricabrak. We… I’ve been asked to accompany you on your journey. It’s an honor.” He bookends his abrupt statement with another awkward half-bow.
Muttering to Kizzirark next to him, Rowan lowers his voice so that, hopefully, the Abbot and Badger Mother cannot hear: "...I mean, most of that was just sound advice, not fortune telling. Expect change, trust your instincts, don't get blackmailed."
Rowan shrugs.
"Oldest trick in the book. You tell a bunch of vague nonsense and hope for your target to feel the blanks for you," he replies, scratching his eyes and agreeing with the Badger Mother. "Very common in the North."
Kizzirark follows the others, not really sad about crossing the gate.
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Away from Redwall, Kizzirark spends his first day in a sour mood, not really talking much even when approached by the others. From time to time, he sips from his flask. During one of the stops, it becomes clear to the others that most of the badger's pack is filled with an assortment of bottles of alcohol, as if his mission was actually to open a tavern in the middle of nowhere.
He warms up a bit on the second and third day. He seems happier during meals, when he drinks more and even joins Tawnystripe into singing. It is a pleasant surprise that the brutish badger actually can sing quite well!
As the old fort comes into view, he seems to become wary, drawing his sword just in case and taking point. "Journey? What journey you talk about, mouse?"
Bertram squints and swings his head, using his peripheral vision to pierce his opaqued vision and confirm that he’s seeing what he thinks he’s seeing. Yes, it IS a large badger swinging an even larger sword. Cripes!
”Uhm, I’m Bertram. The journey is the journey - into the Deep Green... the beyond… maybe beyond the beyond.”
Kizzirark turns to the others. "I think he is on 'shrooms."
"Bertie, is that you? What the heck are you doing here? If you're supposed do accompany us why didn't you come to the feast? And, uh, you do realize that this is going to be dangerous, right?"
He thinks to himself "Especially for crazy blind people"
Kizzirark turns to the others. "I think he is on 'shrooms."
"Well, you're possibly drunk, so..."
Rowan gives Bertram a friendly wave, and then immediately closes his eyes in embarrassment.
"Uh, hi. I'm Rowan Brunk. Looks like some of us have heard of you?" he looks to some of the others in bemusement.
”Bertie, is that you? What the heck are you doing here? If you're supposed to accompany us why didn't you come to the feast?”
Thankfully, Bertram was skilled at recognizing familiar voices, so he didn’t have to squint at the cat. ”Hullo, Tawny. Yes, I am me. The feast?” He parrots the question and pauses, puzzling on the best answer, ”We, I had… to leave sooner, maybe because it took longer to get here. Was the food good?”
”I can’t tell you how much of a privilege it is to finally meet.”
The mouse peers at the bird then steps a little closer swinging his head a slow circle to gather more details. When he spots the wing extended in greeting, he quickly extends his own paw until he touches a feather. His head bobs, somewhat overwhelmed by the effusive greeting. He was used to trepidation, sometimes teasing, and often poorly concealed mutters. ”Ours is the privilege. Thank you.”
”I think he is on 'shrooms.”
” Well, you're possibly drunk, so...”
”Chickpeas. For dinner… I had chickpeas. No mushrooms, sadly.” Clearly the mouse is blind to the subtext of the conversation along with mundane objects.
” I'm Rowan Brunk. Looks like some of us have heard of you?”
He wrings his cane, embarrassed. ”Hullo, Rowan Brunk.” He repeats the name, trying to set it in his memory. ”Yes, some know me. In the Abbey, some say I am ‘odd duck’ among mice. But we know healing and things. I am a helpful odd duck.”
Dahlia squints at the odd mouse, taking a moment before recognition sets in. While the others ask questions, she waits patiently. When suspicions are beginning to die down, she contributes. "Halloa, Bertie. It is a surprise to see you all the way out here. Are you joining us on our adventure?" From what she knew of the eccentric mouse, he was regarded as well-intentioned and helpful, if somewhat touched in the head. She tries not to sound as if she is talking down to a dibbun as she speaks to him. "Have you already scouted ahead? What can you tell us about the fort and its inhabitants? Are they friendly?"
”Are you joining us on our adventure?”
Bertie strokes his ear, considering. ”That is your question to answer. Am I joining all of you?” He points his nose in Kizzirark’s direction, ”If you want to say ‘no’, say ‘yes’ instead. You will be less irritated tomorrow.”
”What can you tell us about the fort and its inhabitants? Are they friendly?”
He listens carefully for a moment; one mouse is still hammering away and the other is scraping around the kitchen. He pitches his voice not to carry. ”They are not friendly, not unfriendly. We thought it might be me… but maybe not. They are nervous. Both look east and west, a lot. Expecting you or someone else? I don’t know.”
pauljathome
Squakowk
