Welcome to Redwall
Not all vermin are evil, not all woodlanders good. Sometimes beasts are just in between. A fox and marten's journey to redwall is waylaid by a certain otter guard named Carter.
Most of the more scrupulous beasts coming to Redwall have the tact to arrive at the main gates before nightfall and before dinner, so naturally Verstet walks up after most beasts in Redwall have already said grace and sat down to their meals. It's a rather cold night with plenty of stars out, the moon lighting the cleared path in front of the abbey well enough to detect the vulpine interloper, but he doesn't feel much of it, considering how he's bundled up in so many layers of cloth. No, it's the light that bothers him. He doesn't care much for standing outside of a veritable fortress bathed in moonlight. To him, it practically begs some uppity squirrel or otter to send an arrow straight through his skull from atop the ramparts. Out of mere habit and precaution, Verstet not only has his bow in hand, but has an arrow nocked, but not yet drawn, though he looks more than ready to pull the bowstring back and send the shaft flying into the face of the first beast who reaches for their weapon a bit too fast for his tastes. He knows full well that he hardly presents a trustworthy look to him, so he has the tact to simply stand to the side and let Venetia be the one to initiate a chat with the guards about gaining entry to the abbey.
Oh sure, let the freakishly tall pine marten with the woad-stained headfur to be the one to initiate conversation. Nothing could possibly go wrong there. At least she seems more at ease than her vulpine companion, herself presenting such a conspicuous sight that even the thought of trying to remain hidden is ludicrous. While Verstet might prefer to keep his precious bow at the ready, Venetia has chosen to approach the situation with falchion in hand, her crossbow slung across her back by a thick leather strap. Stretching out her arm she raps the blade of her weapon several times against the wooden gate. "Anyone 'ome?" She calls out, more than loud enough for anyone near the gate to hear. "'tis cold an' there be two beasts 'ere tha' want in!"
The beasts happen to arrive between a guard shift, unfortunetly for them. As the regular gate guard departs a new one arives. A large heavy set otter has just finished his evening meal and comes to take his place on the other side of the gate. He barely hears the beasts on the other side, chalking up the martens voice to the wind. He pulls up asmall stool and sits down, book in paw, next to the small side door to the gate. He hums softly to himself.
When an answer fails to come, Verstet starts to shift from paw to paw, looking distinctly ready to shoot and run at the very first sign of a threat. Since his normal position has always been to the rear lines, being the beast who has to stare up at a fortress from the other side of a gate is a particularly unwelcome sensation. Finally, Verstet's ever-practical mind decides that, perhaps, nobeast heard them, and he opens his mouth to let out a loud, "Oi!" in a piercing vulpine cry that could make a beast's ears ring. Afterwards, he casts a sidelong glance at Venetia, wondering what her take on the situation is.
Doors are typically small obstacles for Venetia, who quite often uses the strength packed into her long limbs to simply break them down and continue along her way. However, the Abbey gates are a tad too imposing to start kicking at, so she lets the vulpine shriek and scream for entry in her stead, the sound very much uncomfortable to her ears, causing her to wince slightly at the sudden outburst. She doesn't spare him a return glance, instead focusing her eyes upward at the ramparts, noting how destitute they seem to be of patrols. Quite unnerving. Or perhaps, these woodlanders just don't know how to maintain a proper defense. She hopes it's the second.
Their please are heard this time around. And quickly ignored. Carter just got to the good part of the book. He waits a full five minutes before dog earing the book and setting it down. The fat otter grunts as he picks himself up, adjusts his belt, cracks his neck, then moves for the door. A small slit opens and otterly eyes peer out at them both, "You rang?"
Verstet's mind is working in full vulpine mode now, and he gives Carter approximately a single minute before the braying starts again in ernest. He'll get /some/ kind of answer from the abbey making all this commotion, at this rate, and sure enough, he's not disappointed with the results. He'll just have to apologize to Venetia for the earsplitting wailing later. Maybe. He'll think about it. At the very least there's someone to talk to now, even if it is what appears to be a rather surly otter. Again the fox steps back, letting Venetia be the one who has a chat with him. After all, she does look a little bit like an otter if you squint with one eye closed while staring at your footpaws. It's close enough.
Come now, is there no one inside this blessed place that can hear the desperate cries of this poor fox? No? Well, Venetia sure can, and the sound causes her to clap her free hand over the ear closest to him. "'ellgates, will ye stop tha'?" She asks, her own voice rising to ensure that her request is heard over his baying. And then the door has suddenly opened a crack, and Venetia makes a quick mental note to stay a retaliatory smack to the fox's head, seeing as all the ruckus was successful in the end. "Indeed we did." She pulls a smile to go along with her reply, and before the otter can offer further question or slam the door shut in her face, the blue-haired marten sticks both boot and hand into the gap, although she doesn't attempt to pry a wider entry just yet. "We're both travelers, ye see. Cold an' 'ungry an' tired from out journey. An' further up the road we 'eard yer abbey-fortress welcomed visitors."
Carter doens't try to slam the door on poor and hungry travelers...at least not until the marten puts her boot in the door, both literally and metiphorically. He doesn't slam it back in time, drat, "So I can see...Redwall is of course open to all visitors!" The otter says happily before switching to a more serious tone. "Except to armed archers appearing in the dead of night. There is a tavern about three, four hours up the road. They have food and lodging for you."
Naturally, Verstet hears Venetia's order for him to stop his squalls and shut his trap, but he ignores her for the sake of getting the attention of the lazy gateguards... and perhaps to get some revenge for an earlier offense. At the very least he does stop while she's trying to talk to the otter, though Verstet does shoot her a glance that, even though all the layers of cloth, Venetia should be able to tell is a winning smirk that states more clearly than anything that the bearer thinks that this once again proves that foxes are the undisputed champions of problem solving. As Verstet listens to the otter playing games with them, he's finding it terribly difficult not to lift the bow and fire a snap shot straight into Carter's face, but for the sake of his own hide, he holds his fire. Instead, he takes his arrow from the bowstring and shoves it back in the quiver, then slings the bow over one shoulder before speaking up himself. He puts on his most honeyed voice, the fox's tone very much able to take on a more pleasant sound, though it still carries the underlying vermin gruffness. "Oh wouldn't ye please let us in? We've heard so much 'bout how hospitable tha abbey-fortress is, an' yet when we arrive, ye condemn us t'tha cold jus' 'cause we're vermin?" Verstet, doing his vulpine best to lie through his teeth about how he feels, actually adds a hurt sniffle to the end of his entreaty, hoping to bait the otter with woodlander notions like "fairness" and "empathy". You know, that sort of bilge.
Ah, so a facade of peaceable friendliness is the name of the game this time around? Veneita can play that part. Keeping her boot firmly planted in the open door, she removes her hand long enough to sheath her falchion before placing her palm on the gate again. "Cannae speak fer me friend, but I've 'eard a great many rumors abou' yer kitchens and yer food, an' we'd be most appreciative if ye'd let us in. We ain't come tah cause no trouble." While her compatriot tries to honey his way into the abbey, Venetia chooses a less flattering approach, instead crafting her words to be simple matters of fact. If need be, the marten feels she could force her way through the gap and gain entry, but she doubts that would be the prudent means of making a first impression.
This moment is truly heart breaking to the otter...or at least would be if Carter was the parigon of Redwall guards, or even the guard he should be. Instead the otter tilts his head to his side and "awwwwwww, you poor beasts must be so hungry, and cold, and tired. Sure I /could/ let you in, but, rules are rules, and they say to clearly not let anyone in after nightfall." He smiles in almost predator fashion, "However...perhaps I could say that you all came in /before/ night fall and let you in...for a small contribution to the abbey of course." He holds out his paw for his /contribution/."
Now this is hardly something that Verstet expectd, and his widen by a fraction as he hears one of the fabled beasts of Redwall, the paragons of goodness and love and rosey thoughts actually asking for a bribe to let two freezing beasts into the abbey. Were he a beast with less composure, and with cold anger rather than hot anger, Verstet would have gone apoplectic, being the sort of beast who would sooner have another come after his flesh than his money. As tempting as it is to draw his skinning knife, Verstet keeps it sheathed, and instead feigns a sort of moral outrage to what Carter suggested, rather than simple greed. "A beast of Redwall askin' fer a bribe t'let two innocent beasts in? Scandalous! Repugnant! Horrible! Why, me good otter, Ah do have t'think that Ah must have misheard what ye said. Ah'll ferget it. After all, what would yer leader say should he hear?" Verstet pauses, letting the threat hang in the air. After all, just because Carter won't let them in doesn't mean some other stupid guard won't.
The vulpine might not need to wait on another guard to open the gate for them, since Venetia seems to be attempting to do that as he speaks. It's not the sudden surge of muscle and limbs that one might imagine a beast would try to force a gate with, but instead a steadily increasing force exerted on the timber that seeks to slowly push the otter back whilst the fox verbally assaults the bulwark of moral inferiority. "Oh, I should think tha' his superiors would be all sorts'ah interested in 'ow he's takin' bribes."
Carter returns smile for smiles, taunt for taunt. One does not survive as a corrupted guard with out experiencing and adapting to a few set backs. "You mean my woodlander superiors? I am sure they will be very interested in how you tried to bribe your way into the abbey...stole some food, and..." The otters reply is cut off as another voice shouts from behind him, "Hey Carter? What in the blazes are you doing at the gate?" The otter jumps a little, turning around and yellng back, "Just letting in some travelers, one fox and one marten. Both armed with bows." He says quickly. The other unseen otter rolls his eyes, "Then quit lolly gaggin and let them in! And don't forget to take their weapons this time you fool." Narrowing his eyes like a wolf denied its prey the otter opens the side door of the gate, "Weapons, daggers, and anything else you can use to hurt, maim, or inconvieneince others with....please."
Venetia's strength has always been something that Verstet's had respect for, his own build not as good at wrestling with belligerant guards as it is at drawing bowstrings and slipping knives between rib cages. It's likely fortunate for Carter that the other guard stumbled across the little scene... or impressively unfortunate concerning the quick wit of a fox. Verstet practically shoves his muzzle through the crack in the door, preempting any counter-blackmail from the otter by shouting out as loud as he can to the other guard, "An' he's tryin' t'get a bit of coin fer himself in tha process! He's takin' bribes!" Quickly Verstet pulls back, hoping to avoid a slap in the muzzle, then begins to remove his bow and his quiver, trying to look for all the world like a peaceful beast who'd disarmed at the first mention of the word. A perfect woodlander princess in vulpine form!
With greater strength comes the grand responsibility of cracking heads and breaking things, but with the gate now wide open it doesn't appear that the marten's size will be of great need from here on out. Naturally, Verstet would have to get the last word in, it's just his way. Venetia on the other hand feels no particular desire to start accusing anyone of anything, even if the otter's accusation of stealing food struck a nerve. Wordlessly, she removes her falchion and crossbow, even throwing her quiver of bolts into the mix. However, she shows no intention of handing over the lever-spanner than hangs from her belt, perhaps feeling that handing over the device suited to span her crossbow would give these woodlanders an opportunity to play with it.
Carter takes each of their weapons in turn, surpressing a death glare at the fox. He can make their life miserable later on, when they are unarmed and surrounded by guards. Until then the only reply the vulpines comment gets is, "Not my problem. I'm off duty!" Logan cries from the distance. With a smile and nod of his head, both forced, the fat bellied otter points to the Abbey in the distance. "You can find a room and some grub to fill your miserable bellies over yonder. Thievery, assaults, and schinanigans are frowned upon here, and delt with severely." He leans forward a bit towards them both, unafraid of the martens hieght due to bravery, or arrogance, "Don't make me keep my eyes on you." With that he closes the door and takes his leave to deposit the weapons.
The death glare isn't even slightly frightening to Verstet; having to live in vermin horde camps has a tendency of acclimatizing one to such angry looks. In fact, Verstet's perverse nature seems to ensure that he's very pleased with himself for managing to rile the otter enough that he'd show such genuine and blatant emotion. In the fox's mind, it's a sign of weakness and stupidity to show an enemy exactly what you think of them before you do anything to them that brings it all to light in a more painful manner. Though Verstet does roll his eyes at Logan's response, surprised that the hypocritical underbelly of Redwall is already making itself known. As Carter stoops to pick up the weapons, Verstet gives Venetia a rather victorious glance and a wink when he's sure that the otter won't notice. He seems to feel very cocky about getting away with something.
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Players
Venetia
A certain dimorphism in size exists between mustelid species, the uncommon pine marten being no exception. Venetia, however, towers above the status quo. Whereas females are almost always shorter than their male counterparts, Venetia stands almost a full head and shoulders above any of her kin, to an extent that it would be no great stretch to label her one of nature's freak accidents. In further defiance of normality, the marten's fur is a departure from the normal mixture of earth and cream, instead a shade whitish grey reminiscent of the ash of a smoldering fire. Beetle-black eyes are set into thin and angular features, more than pleasing to look upon and containing a roguish, perhaps even reckless air. The only blemish to her appearance are three thin scars, claw marks that emerge from her header and trace in thin straight lines onto her right temple and almost to the corner of her eye.
As striking as her appearance may already be, Venetia has taken an artificial step in order to give herself an even more bizarre visage. Utilizing the naturally occurring dye found in woad, the marten has stained her hair a very noticeable shade of deep blue, the color precisely contained to her headfur without spilling out onto the rest of her. Three long braids sprout from each of her temples, keeping her headfur off of the sides of her neck and ears. The volume left unbraiding is swept back out of her eyes, and tied off with the braids into a loose pony-tail they together form more of a mane than any definite style. Overall, the effect produced by the woad dyed hair is most impressive, and combined with her height it makes Venetia almost impossible to overlook.
The jacket she wears has a definite militaristic flair to it, the insignias and rank displayed upon the sleeve betraying its origin to have been a hare of the Long Patrol, a dark stain surrounding a patch on the front of the garment hinting at the original wearer's fate. Her "uniform" is primarily black in color, trimmed with fading gold embroidery. The double-breasted front is left unbuttoned, revealing a thick grey tunic beneath. Since coming to posses the Patroler's uniform, Venetia has made quite a few alterations, some for ornamentation and others for function. One of the practical alterations done to her uniform was the removal of the right sleeve at the elbow, allowing her arms a greater level of comfort when shouldering her chosen weapon. The remaining sleeve and overall length of the jacket have been taken out to compensate for her height, which exceeds that of the previous owner.
Medals and ribbons of all sorts adorn the left breast of the uniform, no two alike and a few appearing to be tarnished enough to be older than the creature wearing them. An Order of Merit from Colinsel, valorous ribbons of the Long Patrol, even the acorn cluster denoting a Brother of the Order of Redwall Abbey, all would appear to be trophies on display. Upon her right shoulder is a red and black epaulette, the crest of Ruingate's ruling family visible in the center, likely a prize taken from a dead officer of the city's military. A brown belt is fastened with a polished brass buckle around her waist, cinching a pair of slim black trousers trimmed along the outer thighs with gold thread in an x-like pattern. Both her feet are tucked into black marching boots.
Venetia's favored weapon is a crossbow, typically carried over her shoulder or slung by a leather strap across her back. The overall length of the weapon is longer than average, the tiller predictably lengthened to accommodate her size. The horn, sinew and wood composite limbs require a lever to span, which clatters around from a loop on her belt. A rather delicate looking leaf and blade sight is riveted to the tiller of the crossbow, lending Venetia greater potential for landing an accurate hit at distance. A quiver of bolts is fastened at her right side. Sheathed at her left hip is a falchion with a slightly longer blade and a two-handed grip protected by a straight cross-bar.
Verstet
Two razor sharp, ever-calculating, absinthe-green eyes peer out from within the hood of a cloak, most likely the only part of Verstet that is even remotely visible. This fox has mastered both the arts of remaining unseen and striking from afar with lethal accuracy, and there's not an article of clothing on his body that hasn't been carefully selected to suit these skills, the end result being that this beast appears to be a bundle of cloth rather than a fox. A dark grey smock covers both front and back of Verstet's body, and seems to have had ragged strips of green cloth sewn to it to. Over that is a hooded cloak, of the same color with the same strips of green sewn to it, but to this is added real sticks and leaves, woven into the material and replaced regularly so the leaves always match the colors of the season. Completing his unusual camouflage suit is a kilt following the same design as the smock.
In order to hide the color of his fur, which is an almost silver-grey color with longer black "socks" on all his limbs, Verstet employs furpaint, splotched over his face in green, brown, and black, helping him to blend in with the verdant terrain in Mossflower, and his muzzle is guarded by a cloth wrap. What's more, he's also wrapped his arms in green cloth, and on his right hand he wears a leather finger protector, while his right arm is guarded against the string of his weapon by a bracer. No doubt his choice of ensemble combined with his skill to patiently sit motionless for hours ensures that he can remain more or less invisible to all but the most diligent of searches. Yet below all this cloth does, in fact, reside a fox, whose tastes involve the far more simple outfit of a jerkin, black trousers, knee-high leather boots, and a bandana.
Physically, Verstet falls into that dubious category of "almost handsome". Being a mercenary archer, his build is lithe and sinuous, with well muscled arms from seasons upon seasons of drawing a heavy bowstring. But his face has been ruined beyond repair, ugly burn scarring marring his features, his fur not having grown back over the marked skin. Its path flows from above his right brow, running down in gnarled flesh all the way down his neck and to his collarbone and part of his upper chest. The right ear looks like it was shredded by something raking over it, but miraculously, his right eye is untouched and the lid still functions. Furthermore, the oftentimes untrustworthy and cruel smile that plays across his lips hardly enhances his remaining good features.
Naturally, as a warbeast, Verstet is well armed, and his favored weapon is a rather powerful-looking longbow, a bit thicker than the norm of its kind, and bearing a rather unusual fixture: a telescope riveted to the frame of the bow which Verstet uses to assist in the murder of distant targets. The long arrows required for this weapon are stashed in a quiver, which is slung at the hip and can be adjusted so that it sits high on his chest. A simple belt and buckle bundle the arrows within the quiver so they don't rattle about when Verstet moves. The final war accouterment is a hefty, curved skinning knife, almost long enough to be considered a short sword, and its craftsmanship seems to suggest that its favored function is to cause pain. Verstet looks every bit like the seasoned mercenary he is.
Carter
The otter before you looks back at you with a mischevious smile and a joyfull grin. The young otter is 11 seasons old, 11.5 at the most and stands just a inch shorter than the average otter.
The otters body has a certain degree of pudge under his light brown fur but not to the point that Carter is hindered by it. A pair of dark brown trousers wraps around his waist and his chest and belly are bare save for the harness that wraps around both shoulders and down his middle until it connects with the short sword at his belt.
