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Josiah the Warrior
April 19th, 2005, 11:17 PM
Ok, this is my first fanfic, it is called Josiah( :slagar ) and although the story is finished it isn't completed. *sigh*An editor's work is never done. Although the final editing stages are long they are fun, but I can't help myself so here is a good bit of the first chapter. Comments of all kinds are appreciated, please leave feedback!

A cool evening breeze fluttered in Mossflower country, toying with the tunic of Ripleg the weasel. He adjusted his tattered green clothing, and lay down flat on his belly. He shuddered, but not because of the wind. The lanky weasel was on a scouting mission for his master, Deathpaw. Deathpaw was stoat who brooked no failure from any of his vast horde; he was not one to cross. Some say he came from the north, others say the south, but those who had been with the stoat since the beginning of his evil campaign knew he, and his massive army, was from the east.
Ripleg and a score of assorted soldiers were spying on a large building made of beautiful red sandstone. He and his cohorts were to gather information vital to the imminent invasion, including the best possible time to attack it; unfortunately for the scouts, the science of calculating an attack time had to have the hour the denizens of the citadel awoke in the equation. The weary scouting party would be waiting out in the wee hours of the morning to acquire this information; their astute warlord took nothing to chance.
Munching on a stale chunk of bread, Ripleg softly sang a song that he learned from seasons of sitting around vermin campfires.

“I was born on the briny sea,
an’ a coldhearted killer is what I’ll be,
I’ll plunder’n’steal’n’maul’n’fight,
Til’ the suns gone down every night,

Ohhhh me mama cheered the day that I had to depart,
She wouldn’t give me vittles so I stabbed ‘er in the heart,
Me papa sed ‘son wodja do that for?’
I said cos’ I’m a murderer born!”

He was about to start the next verse of the bloodthirsty ditty when a ragged looking fox named Inkul limped up to Ripleg and sat down to his left. Ripleg looked him up and down with silent disgust. Everything about the fox, from the crafty gleam in his eye, down to his rusted spear blade marked him as an untrustworthy vermin. Unfortunately, this particular fox was a captain in Deathpaw’s army, and commanded a certain amount of respect. Inkul leaned over and whispered in a grating voice.
“Yarr, I hopes yer don’t fall asleep tonight, yer do remember what happened der las’ time yer failed Lord Deathpaw, don’ts yer weasel?” he gleefully warned.
Subconsciously rubbing the now faded lash marks on his back, Ripleg remembered only too well what Deathpaw’s punishment was for those who failed him; he had no pity for any of his subordinates.
“Don’t you worry fox,” he spat. “I’m wide awake and my report to Lord Deathpaw will be good enough.”
“Watch what yer calls me, weasel!” snarled the captain. “It’s Captain Inkul or sir to yer! An’ if yer ever spits at me agin I’ll rip yer tongue out!”
Although he held the fox captain in high contempt, he knew that Inkul was a fierce and cunning fighter, and he dared not challenge him, at least not just yet. Ripleg was a patient weasel, so he relented.
“Yes, cap’n,” he said in a grudging tone.
“That’s more like it soljer, now get back ter yer observin’!”
The fox stumped away on a leg that he once injured in some bygone battle. Mentally, Ripleg vowed he would settle with the arrogant fox one day. For now he was content to snuggle down and watch the unmoving red stone’s of the peaceful Abbey in the distance.

Abbot Julius was up an hour before dawn, taking his breakfast of oat scones and mint tea up on the battlements of his beloved Abbey, as he did every morning. Julius allowed his gaze to drift into the interior of Redwall Abbey; he saw the orchard that was harvested every autumn, full of fruit trees and berry bushes of every variety, he saw the Abbey pond, where the good creatures of Redwall washed dishes, clothes and Dibbuns (the young ones of Redwall), where they swam and even fished, the Abbot saw the lawns where Redwallers took their ease and young ones played in the sun. The lawn led to the spectacular main Abbey building, also made of red sandstone, which contained the kitchens, dormitories, infirmary, dining hall and cellar. Next to the tall sandstone structure stood the bell tower of Redwall Abbey, which held the beautiful bronze Matthias and Methuselah bells, who belted out their brazen tones for events ranging from feasts to funerals. And holding all of these were the massive outer walls, incredibly thick and durable, built of matching red sandstone. Julius sighed; his Abbey was truly a place of beauty. After he finished his breakfast, Abbot Julius gazed out into the surrounding area, his eyes roved from the well traveled path that led right to Redwall’s gatehouse and massive oak doors, out to the sprawling Mossflower wood, which extended as far as the eye could see in every direction. Then the Abbot noticed something moving out in the orchard, and thinking it was some naughty Dibbun, he went to investigate. After Julius had walked down the wall stairs, he strode over to the orchard, calling as he went.
“Hello! Who’s in there?”
“Good day to you, Father Abbot, tis I, Josiah,” called a strong young voice.
Julius sighed with relief, he did not enjoy scolding Dibbuns for raiding the crops or any other misbehavior, plus he always enjoyed speaking with Josiah, who would soon make a valuable addition to their order as a brother.
“I was just gathering some blackberries for Friar Rillo,” spoke Josiah as he appeared out of the bushes carrying a basket full of berries. “He was planning on making blackberry tarts for lunch today.”
“That’s very helpful of you Josiah, would you like to accompany me to the kitchens?”
“Thanks but no thanks, Father Abbot, I still have a lot of work to do,” said Josiah as he indicated the empty berry baskets lying around him.
Julius smiled as he said, “Ah my young friend, do you know how the old saying goes?” the young mouse shook his head in puzzlement. “What the dusty old friar doesn’t know won’t hurt him, I can finish up here, Josiah, you can run along and play with your friends.”
“I appreciate it sir, but I can manage, besides all of my lazy friends are still abed,” he said with a grin.
The Abbot was shocked at Josiah’s refusal of his offer, but hid his surprise by shrugging.
“Suit yourself, young one, and keep up the good work.”
Julius strode off as the industrious Josiah bent back to his task. What a helpful young creature he is, thought the Abbot, Josiah will make a valuable addition to our order some day. Well, thought the mouse, I had better be getting back to the kitchens, no doubt Friar Rillo will need all the help he can get feeding those Dibbuns. The Abbot allowed himself a dry smile; he remembered how just yesterday the young ones of Redwall had fled into the orchard after being threatened with bedtime for eating an entire harvest of strawberries. The chase to round up all of the Dibbuns took nearly all afternoon, and the agitated brothers and sisters of Redwall sent them all straight to bed after being “physicked” by the stern infirmary keeper for eating too much. Sister Willow’s foul tasting physicks were dreaded by all the creatures in Redwall, and were said to be so heinous that if you spilled any on the floor it would melt right through, even though Willow swore on it as a cure-all. Because of their punishment, the Abbot knew that the normally gluttonous youngsters had missed dinner yesterday and would be eating more ravenously than usual today, if that were possible. The Abbot hurried off to the kitchens to help his friend the friar, chuckling as he went, unaware of the watchful eyes on his Abbey.

The Redwall kitchens were in a state of chaos far beyond the expectations of Julius when he arrived. Instead of their usual raucous demands for food, the Dibbuns had taken it upon themselves to cook an enormous cauldron of porridge, and the result could not have been more disastrous. The once spotless countertops and floors that Friar Rillo prided himself on now looked to have suffered a porridge flood, with the goopy mess strewn about the kitchen in the most unlikely places. The wild Dibbuns ran about helter-skelter, slopping porridge about as they went. The ringleader of it all, Skilly the molebabe, was being pursued by the fat friarmouse, who was trying to relieve the young one of the massive bowl overflowing with porridge he was carrying. As the chase went on, more and more of the bowl’s cargo was being spilled over the floors, and the friar cried out.
“Stop, you villainous mole, you’re making an even worse mess of my floors!”
“Hurr, hurr, io baint stoppin’ till yoo do, froir!” yelled Skilly in rustic mole speech. “If’n you’d stop chasin’ oi then oi wouldn’t ‘ave to run and be a-spillin’ all this yurr porridge, zurr!”
Just as the mole finished speaking, he slipped on a spot of porridge on the floor, and as Skilly slowly spun around, trying to regain his balance, the fat friar, unable to stop his momentum ran smack dab into Skilly, sending the two of them crashing down in a heap of mole, mouse and porridge. They extracted themselves from each other, and just as the mouse cook was about to scold the young mole, he was hit by a sudden fit of laughter.
“Why you young rip! I ougtha…hahahah!”
“Wot be you laurfin’ at zurr?”
“Well you, hahaha, see-see-seem to be w-heehaha, wearing that b-b-bowl of, hahahah, porridge as a new ha-h-hahah hat!”
“Urr, oi don’t see wots so funny ‘bout a pore choild such as oi doomed to clean owt his pore ears,” said the mole gruffly as he trundled off to clean himself, still wearing the bowl on his head. The Redwall kitchens were running just fine.

Josiah the Warrior
April 19th, 2005, 11:18 PM
heres the rest of the chapter!

Evening fell on Mossflower woods. The gaily singing birds decrescendoed their music to a soft pianissimo, omitting the odd chirp every so often to break the silent night air in the forest, which was now bathed in a beautiful light orange hue from the setting sun. But soon total darkness came, and the woods dropped off into a peaceful silence, as if the trees themselves were going to sleep. Mossflower was now embraced by the velvety cloak of night, and the crescent moon trying vainly to penetrate the thick clouds with its reflected light. But the beauty of nature was lost on Ripleg the weasel as he trotted quickly but as stealthily as he could to his master’s tent. As he padded silently through the calm forest, the weasel scout mentally reviewed his report. He had seen a large badger only moments ago, the badger was a male, powerful and fearsome, his only weapon being a mighty battle axe taller than Ripleg himself. But the creature was traveling right towards Redwall Abbey, and if Deathpaw wanted the sand colored badger dead before he entered the Abbey, the army would have to move quickly. All of a sudden, Ripleg went sprawling head over heels, having just been neatly tripped by Inkul’s spear. The wicked fox sniggered evilly at Ripleg as he collected himself off of the ground and brushed off his clothes.
“Watch where yer goin’ weasel! And speakin’ of such, where are ye goin’?”
“I’ve got important new for Lord Deathpaw, fox,” growled Ripleg through clenched teeth. “The information is time sensitive; I need ta speak with him now.”
“Well howabout yer tell me what ye seen, and I tells Deathpaw, eh?”
“Oho no fox, you’re not takin’ credit for what I saw!”
“I sed yer tells me now!” screeched the fox in high temper. But Ripleg would have none of it, he enjoyed baiting Inkul, whom he hated.
“I don’t think so, snipenose!” As the enraged captain raised his spear for a throw, Ripleg spoke in a teasing voice. “Go ahead fox, throw it, but when Deathpaw finds out about that badger tomorrow, he’ll be wonderin’ why he never knew about it, and once he finds his best scout dead, halfway to his camp, he’ll put two an’ two together.”
Inkul shook with restrained rage, but only growled at the impudent weasel as he turned sharply on one heel and marched off toward the main army encampment. Ripleg smirked at the limping fox, reveling in his verbal victory before cheerfully walking off in pursuit. A short while later they arrived at the camp and Ripleg looked around, taking in the impressive scene. It was a large clearing up against a tall hill, and there were sentries posted in a wide half-circle around the camp, which held the numerous tents of Deathpaw’s vast horde. Although the clearing was large, more like a field really, it could barely hold all of the soldiers and their tents, which dotted the landscape like hundreds of tiny cloth pyramids. Those not on sentry duty were sleeping and lazing about, not knowing when they may get another opportunity to rest once the invasion began. Deathpaw’s personal tent was pitched in the back of the clearing, up against the hill, and it stood out in contrast when compared with the makeshift dwellings of his compatriots. It was large and looming, a deep burgundy color with gold trim. As Ripleg and Inkul approached the tent, the two armed guards standing in front saluted and allowed the fox Captain and his charge to enter. When Inkul and Ripleg opened the flap and ducked in, Deathpaw was sitting at a tree stump desk, studying a chart, without looking up, he addressed the two soldiers.
“It’s about time you two showed up, I want this attack over with soon, we can’t afford to wait for some creatures friendly to the Abbey to spot us and warn them. Well what do you have to tell me?” demanded the Warlord.
“Lord-” began Inkul, but he was cut off quickly by Ripleg.
“Sir, there’s a large male badger headin’ towards the Abbey, sir!”
“What? How long ago was this, did he spot any of our soldiers?” quizzed the stoat, rising from his chair and facing his two subordinates.
“It was a good half hour ago sir, I woulda been here sooner if Inkul here hadn’ta slowed me down with silly questions, but no he didn’t see any of my scouts. We were gonna take him down with arrows but we thought it’d be wise to await your order, lord.”
Inkul glared hatred at the telltale weasel but wisely held his tongue in the presence of his leader, for he was always intimidated by the stoat. Deathpaw was not only their fearsome and cunning general, but he also looked every inch the horde commander; his blood red cape concealed a sinewy figure and a snakeskin belt that held a long saber and fine black pants. His air of command instinctively told everybeast he met that he was a born leader and not one to be trifled with, it always gave his soldiers a chill down their spine when forced to speak with him alone.
“Hmm, it’s much too late to apprehend the stripedog now, we will just have to take care of him tomorrow,” spoke Deathpaw. “And as for you Inkul, you got off lucky this time, if that badger had spotted any of our troops then I would have skinned you alive, you know.”
The fox captain gulped visibly, the stoat warlord’s threats were not to be taken lightly.
“Ripleg,” said Deathpaw, “your scouts must have collected sufficient information by now, what do you have to tell me?”
“The Abbeydwellers are all asleep by 4 hours after sundown, and they post no sentries, the earliest risers are the cooks, who get up one, sometimes two hours before dawn, sir.”
“Hmm, this leaves us a good window; it is four hours after sunset now, is it not?”
“Aye, sir,” replied Ripleg.
“Very well, weasel, you are dismissed.” The scout left gratefully, leaving Inkul to face the unpredictable moods of the Warlord alone. “Assemble the troops Inkul, and tell the other captains we will move out in one hour. Oh and Inkul?” said Deathpaw in a deceptively calm voice as the fox turned to leave. “You nearly made a fatal mistake tonight, make sure it is your last…or I will.”
“Thank you sir!” said the fox, throwing a hasty salute he scampered out.
The Warlord sighed with exasperation, he often wished his captains were as smart as he were, but then, thought Deathpaw, there would be no need for his leadership. It’s better to be a big fish in a small pond, he thought with a shake of his head. Turning back to his charts, the stoat made final mental adjustments to his strategy before going to address his troops. All of the effort he had put forth, all of his hard work and subterfuge and painstaking gathering of intelligence; it would all be worth it by dawn. He had spent the better part of his early seasons scrounging in the tough eastlands, trying desperately to become a respected warlord and escape the war-stricken country. Despite his skill in battle and cunning, the stoat could not build the army or reputation necessary to plunder the westlands. But all of his luck changed with the return of Garto the fox. Garto had been to the legendary westlands and brought back with him great tales of prosperity and slaves ripe for the taking. The fox warlord spoke of one place in particular, a building made of sandstone, huge and easily defendable, large enough for any army. But Garto’s force was too small to take the fortress, so he had returned to the east to gather a great horde. With the light of conquest in his eyes Deathpaw challenged Garto to a battle, winning by the skin of his teeth, but emerging victorious with the loyalty of the fox’s army. Using his cunning, pitilessness and slowly building reputation, Deathpaw traveled about the eastlands, conquering and burning all in his path, until he had an army numbering in the thousands. Finally ready to achieve his goal, the stoat set his eyes upon his prize and marched for the fabled Abbey of Redwall. Deathpaw allowed himself a rare smile, his plans had reached fruition, now was the time to reap the sweet rewards.

Josiah the Warrior
April 20th, 2005, 04:24 PM
Just everyone knows, this may be it for awhile, I have another 40 odd pages to edit, but I hope you all liked the first chapter!

Warrier
April 20th, 2005, 07:05 PM
That was the first chpter!?

Josiah the Warrior
April 20th, 2005, 08:36 PM
Yes that was chapter one, about 5 of 45 pages.

Sagrived Switpaw
April 20th, 2005, 09:00 PM
I read it and I thought it was a little much for the first chapter. But good. I think uesing your name in your story is maby a little, cheesy? Maby?
I will read the rest when it comes out. So keep editing and have fun josiah!

Josiah the Warrior
April 20th, 2005, 09:03 PM
Heheh. I actually got my name for the forum from the story, so its vice versa :slagar . But thanks for the feedback, I appreciate it!

Sagrived Switpaw
April 20th, 2005, 09:13 PM
You bet! I enjoy fan fics and reviewing them, so keep it up.

Josiah the Warrior
May 25th, 2005, 10:21 PM
Here be the second chapter. It's significantly shorter than the first, so it'll be easier to get through ( :slagar ). Also, anyone who reads this please, please please comment! As forementioned I would love to hear what you all think of my first fanfic. Criticisms accepted as joyfully as compliments, please tell me what you thought of it! Enjoy....

Three hours before dawn, the road leading to Redwall Abbey was choked with vermin. Thousands of them marched down the path towards the redstone sanctuary, each bearing their own instrument of death; pikes, spears, axes, sabers, straight swords, curved swords, scimitars, javelins, dirks and rapiers were much in evidence. With their weapons dulled by ashes so not to betray a glimmer, the army marched on, but not in full force. A secondary attack party had broken off from the main group and circled around the back of the Abbey, carrying ladders, ropes and grappling hooks to scale the high outer walls. Deathpaw watched it all from the top of a nearby hill with his captains; the fearsome stoat warlord took nothing to chance. He would oversee this personally. It would make a fine fortress, large enough for even his army.
What fools these Abbeybeasts are, he thought to himself. His scouts had reported no sentries were posted and the only creatures up before dawn were a few cooks. Deathpaw had wisely decided to suspend his invasion by waiting until the next morning to catch them by surprise. This should go off without a hitch, he thought. Looking at the distant horizon, Deathpaw judged it was a little more than three hours before dawn and decided that now was the appropriate time to commence his well thought out operation.
“Tell them to begin,” he said to a ferret captain to his left, while his cape fluttered in the feisty morning breeze. The ferret nodded and waved his paws twice in the air, on his signal; a crew of rats bearing an enormous ladder stepped to the front of the army and propped it up against the heavy oak doors, climbing swiftly and silently. Behind them, hundreds of assorted rats, ferrets, stoats, weasels and foxes stood ready with spears and swords to climb the ladder, to either side of them, another large group stood with taught bowstrings, waiting for unsuspecting heads to pop up. And positioned on the other two sides of the Abbey were even more soldiers waiting for their comrades to unlock the small wall gates; there would be no escape for the Redwallers. Allowing his thoughts to drift back to the present, the stoat warlord guessed his ambushers would be in position by now. Deathpaw watched the scene unfold with inner smugness. He was knocking on the Abbey door!

In the woodlands behind the mighty army, two otters watched in horror and fascination as the attack took place. The larger of the two, without looking at his companion, whistled and remarked in an awed voice,
“Have you ever seens so many vermin in one place before, matey?”
“No I ‘aven’t, but what should we do to help the Redwallers out, Skipper?”
The otter in question chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip before replying,
“As much as I’d like to ‘elp those poor coves, we can’t possibly fight off enough to make a difference or even reach the Abbey walls, whoever leads that rabble is a crafty one, make no mistake about it. So here’s what we do, we shift ourselves as fast as we can over to Salamandastron and ask the hares of the Long Patrol to ‘elp us out. If anyone can save the abbey it’ll be them.”
His companion nodded grimly as they rose and swiftly jogged of into the morning, knowing that the longer they took the less chance their friends had of surviving.