The Traveler

[Zevka]

Name: Jarl 
Species: Wild Cat
Gender: Male
Age: 27
Role: The Traveler

                               
?...and so, tail tucked between his legs, the great? excuse me,  formally  great Trask Bloodclaw was forced into retreat. They say that the only casualties his army suffered were those poor souls who got ran over by the brute as he fled the battle!?
                               
The room explodes with a quite sort of laughter. By now most here are quite subdued with ale. ?Jarl, where  do  you get these stories?? The tavern is of course vermin friendly. It must be to accommodate Jarl but the beasts here are a classier type of vermin. More fur clothing, less decretive skulls. Jarl has taste after all.
                               
?Oh, you pick up as many stories as you tell traveling between places,? he leans against the bar still nursing his cup of mead, ?The Tragic Tales of Trask Bloodclaw are quite popular in this area. They?ve earned me more than one free meal in many a tavern from here to Mossflower.?
                               
?Well, that much is obvious.? Jarl raises an eyebrow to the round of chuckling at his expense. Looking down he examines himself and sighs. The wildcat would be an imposing sight if not for the amount of time he spends in taverns telling stories instead of living them.   

?Hey now, I?m just bulking up for winter. Three? years from now?? Jarl rubs the back of his neck and laughs, but adds quietly, ?Or five.?
                               
?Or ten.? One weasel comments.
                               
?You know, fer all de travelin dis one does how does he keep so well fed lookin??
                               
?Maybe he rolls from tavern to tavern rather than walk??
                               
?Yessss.? Jarls says through gritted teeth, ?I think we properly established that I am fat. Maybe we can move on to something  else? Perhaps another story or??
                               
?Where didja get all dem tatoos??
                               
The wildcat sighs deeply. ?Or we can go back to cracking fat jokes, sure, why not?? In the end, Jarl relents. They always ask about the tattoos eventually anyway. Starting from the top he points to his eyes, ?The dots on my face mark me as belonging to the Warrior tribe of Echel?don. We are known in the norther parts for our fierceness with axes and pikes in battle!?
                               
The weasel arches a disbelieving eyebrow as Jarl tries to take an imposing fighting stance. ?Y-you don?t believe that I am capable of being a fearsome warrior?? Jarl asks innocently. Rolling his eyes, Jarl slouches, ?Ok fine, the tattoo?s on my chest mark me as a scribe. Happy now?? Jarl doesn?t go into detail about the others running up his belly and back; they mostly mark his rites of passage, family creed?

?Banishment.

Boring stuff to be sure.
                               
?But I assure you the warrior spirit of my people flows through my veins just like our famous-?
                               
A cold winter wind flows through the room as the door slams open. A dark imposing shadow fills the entry way until Jarl realizes that he is not staring out into the night but at one massive beast. Dark brown fur covered in heavy leather this beast certainly dresses like proper vermin, complete with a weathered otter hide hat and a necklace made of badger teeth.
                               
Jarl admits he is slightly jealous; it has taken him all night to gain the attention of the beasts here, yet this new comer manages to make his presence known without a single word. But to be fair only fools ignore a  wolverine.
                               
The beast stepped forward casting blood shot eyes about the room, as if looking for something, or someone. ?I have come?for de slanderous, yellow bellied, cowardly  toad  who has been defaming de good name of  Bloodclaw  up and down Mossflower. I have come fer the one de call?Jar?eeel.?
                               
Jarl instantly chokes on his mead. The coughing fit that follows seems to only draw the wolverine?s attention. ?Well? Do /you/ know where I kin find dis Jar?el? Speak quickly cat!?
                               
A moment passes as all eyes fall upon the wildcat. Taking a deep breath Jarl stands tall to face the beast of his stories. The wildcat steadies his nerves, preparing himself for the fight that is sure to follow.
He then quickly points to another feline off in the corner. ?He?s the one! That?s the beast you are looking for!?
                               
The drunken beast manages to make a soft, ?Wot?? before the wolverine is upon him. In the chaos that ensues Jarl uses the warrior spirit flowing through his veins to make a hasty retreat out the back door.


---------------

Character Name: Komi Banton
Category: The Traveler
Species: Stoat
Age: 36
Gender: Female

A big crowd filled the way station on this cold northern night because of a local horde camped nearby. As the vermin whiled away the night with drinking and gambling, Komi struggled to keep her face passive as she tapped out a rhythm on her drum. She hated this song, but a request was a request.

She closed her eyes, blocking out the smug smile of the weasel who?d shouted the song title, then began to sing in a clear alto.

"The red of the stones
Ain?t from the sun.
The blood of the dead
Stain every one.

The bell in the tower,
Gold in the dawn,
Looks down on the bones
Hiding the lawn.

?Tis folly to fight.
Those bloody walls.
Bodies break against their gates.
The gates of old Redwall."

As always, her stomach twisted at the memory of her own sight of those red walls. The song had it right.

Folly.

She finished with the drum, set it aside, and pulled a flute from her pack. Tunes were easier to carry than lyrics, and the last song left her throat dry.

The stoat minstrel played on and on until the crowd reached a point where music no longer did any good and Komi noted another stoat giving her a drunken eyeful.

She packed her reed flute away and picked up her pack and drum before leaving the corner where she?d been playing since before nightfall.

The fox who owned the place glared as she went past him to the kitchens, but he didn?t stop her. A pair of ragged field mice worked the kitchen. She sneered at both of them. This far north, it wasn?t likely that they were Redwallers, but she could imagine it so. Gave her a little sense of justice, seeing woodlanders so cowed.

She helped herself to a bowl of the stew on the stove as the mice scurried out of her way. She slurped it down, hardly tasting it as she considered her next move. The terms had been that she would sleep upstairs, but the big crowd had quickly evicted her from her bed. She refused to sleep in the kitchen with the slaves.

Maybe there was room in the woodshed? With her coat still patchy white from winter, she would keep warm enough.

She left her bowl in the overflowing sink and ducked out the kitchen door.

Halfway to the woodshed, a voice said, ?Captain Banton??

Komi stumbled, the old name catching her off guard.

?Ha, I told you!?

Komi turned around to glare the weasel who?d requested  Gates of Redwall. A pair of rats flanked him.

The weasel spat at Komi?s footpaws. ?I thought you looked familiar. If it ain?t Komi the coward."

She bared her teeth.

?You?ve mistaken me for someone else.?

?Damned if I did,? he snarled. ?I was under your command during Galleran?s siege at Redwall. I never forget a face.?

?You?d do well to forget this one,? she replied.

The weasel spoke to the rats with him. ?Ever tell you about my old commander? One of Galleran?s finest, she was. Trusted, even. Then you know what she did? Right as we stood ready to take the place, she bails. Runs away in the middle of the battle, abandoning Galleran to death. Every one of our leaders died, ?cept her.?

Komi dropped her pack and lunged. The weasel wasn?t expecting the blade to his stomach, which she jerked through flesh and fabric with a hard upward yank. One of the rats yelled and half drew a cutlass from his belt, but already Komi was on him. One paw snapped up, clipping him hard beneath the jaw and sending him staggering back, only to bend double as she disemboweled him. She threw herself to one side and just in time, the second rat brought down a sword where she?d been standing. She rolled, mud squelching along her shoulder and back, then found her feet in time to duck forward under the next sword stroke. The second rat gasped as she opened him from hip to neck, then shoved him back.

She straightened, breathing hard, and blinking moisture from her eyes. Splattered with mud and blood now, she wiped her dagger off on the weasel?s shirt, then tucked it back in her belt. She picked up her gear and strode away. If this horde had one survivor of Galleran?s army, she didn?t want to be anywhere within a day?s journey of them.



--------------

Name- Diamond
Age- 20 or so
Species- Fox
Gender- Female
Category- Traveler
 
One of the very first rules of performance was that of "Unexpecting the Expected," where the performer would up the ante of their act by subverting everything their audience thought would happen and, instead, doing the one thing nobeast even considered possible. For example, when Globby the stoat acrobat proposed he would leap from tightrope to tightrope, most beasts in the audience expected he would do just that. What they weren't expecting was that, instead, his footpaw would slip and he would come tumbling down to the stage below, and have to be carried away on a stretcher.
 
Globby's wails rent the air behind the main stage curtain of Mistress Valentine's Travelin' Players, where chaos was in full reign because of the accident. The aforementioned ferret Mistress Valentine took a peek at the main stage from behind the curtain, withdrawing with a grimace when she saw some of the crowd begin to roll their eyes and disperse.
 
"Hellgates!" The ferret rubbed her temple as Globby's screaming continued. "Would somebeast please take this beast to a bloody healer so I can concentrate or are we content letting him score the next act?"
 
"Merm, we dunn avva necks ack," Horace the sword swallower said.
 
"That was our finale!?"
 
Hearing their plight, a pretty-eyed vixen named Diamond set down the crate of props she was carrying and hesitantly stepped forward. "Miss Valentine... err... there's always my act."
 
"Ackkk!"
 
Valentine stared wide-eyed as Horace choked on his rapier. The weasel luckily recovered a second later, but there existed a moment where that idea could have literally killed a beast. "Diamond, sweetheart, listen..." the ferret said as tenderly as she could. "Your act is... well... some beasts might just not be ready for it."
 
The vixen was undeterred. "But I've been practicing so much! I'm just... All I ever do is help pull the caravan. I know I could do more, and being on stage... it's what I've always wanted."
 
Valentine grimaced and Diamond's ears drooped. She was sure her manager would certainly say no, but a look came over her as the ferret took another peek through the curtain. "You've got five minutes to grab those bloody things you call props and get changed," she said, turning to the vixen.
 
"Really?" Diamond squealed in delight. "Oh, thank you so much! I won't let you down, I promise."
 
Valentine waved her off with a paw. Raising her voice, the ferret addressed the whole troupe. "Right everybeast! Start setting the stage for Diamond's act. We're on in five!"
 
Six minutes later, Valentine strode through the curtain and gave a tremendous bow for the crowd. "Right, everybeast. Apologies for our little accident earlier, but as the saying goes, the show must go on, so it's now time for our next act. The beautiful. The bold. Diamond!"
 
The curtain rose and the vixen strode on stage with two other dogfoxes, each holding the ends of a thin sheet of silk that covered   her whole body save for her pretty face. Turning her back to the audience, she dipped below the sheet for only a moment before lightly tossing her dress over the edge where everybeast could see and giving them a sly wink.
 
The males in the crowd roared with applause, while their wives glared at them in disapproval. Then, as Diamond raised her arms, the sheet dropped.
 
Diamond stood before them in a bright, white sequin leotard, but nobeast was focused on that. Instead, everybeast's eyes were fixed on the fox maiden's broad muscles that carved their way through her arms and legs as she flexed them.
 
There was a moment of silence and then... "Oy, Bring back the pretty one!"
 
"Aye, what a bloody freak!"
 
Diamond's smile faltered in confusion, but she remained undeterred, lifting each of her heavy weights high above her head as suddenly, a chorus of boos reached her ears. From backstage, Valentine looked to her in concern, but, despite the tears in her eyes, the vixen shook her head. The show had to go on. This was her time to shine.
 
A great balled weight nearly double her own was the finale. She bent over and took the bar in both paws, her muscles tensing in preparation, and then she raised it high over her head. She held it there for fifteen seconds, staring straight ahead at her audience as they continued spitting venom and insults. Then the act was done and, with tears in her eyes, Diamond stepped forward...
 
... and took a bow.