Thought I'd go for it!
Level being applied for: Level 1
Link: Recent Posts
Current Position(s): N/A
Title: Young Abbeybeast
Have you ever been banned or restricted or received a warning?: No
If so, then why? -
Write Two paragraphs or more Describing:
- Martin the Warrior
At first glance, one wouldn’t think this young mouse capable of leading other beasts, let alone becoming a legendary warrior. Perhaps it is this very reason that Martin, the Warrior Mouse of Redwall Abbey, is the most famous mouse in all of Mossflower history. But I see him a bit differently; call this “Frost’s Prerogative,” but as of late I’ve seen Martin as the leader after the fall of Marshank and the establishment of Redwall. You can tack this to my own increasing age, or familiarity with the character, or the wanting to break away from “traditional” (and perhaps overplayed) viewpoint of the character, but all I ask is that you consider my view, if but for a moment.
Let us look in on our warrior as seasons have passed. Sunsets and cold winds have thinned and dulled his fur, but his bright eyes shine clearer than any star in the night sky, and his mouth is quick to smile on friends young and old. Lines of time and wisdom encircle his eyes, betraying a confidence in accepting both gain and loss. He wears a black habit by choice: to offset his color from the traditional green of the ‘peaceful’ brothers and sisters of the abbey who have not known seasons of violence or evil, and also to mourn for the lost love of his youth, Laterose. Despite his vow for peace, this mouse will always be set apart from the others—an enigma in a sea of tranquility.
Strong paws that formerly wielded sword and shield now devote themselves to tending the gardens of the abbey. Dirt and sweat are the constant companions of the peaceful fighter as he works amid a chorus of dibbuns’ laughter in the warm noon sun, but as he reaches to clip a fresh rose from its bountiful bush, a thorn catches his paw. He winces and licks the blood away, but his mind’s eye remembers the slash of pain, the trickle of blood; war will never leave this mouse, but he chooses to use his talents for life, not death.
He folds his paws to give thanks for the lush vittles covering the large abbey table as the peaceful creatures gather for their supper, and after eating he enthralls scores of dibbuns with his fireside performances, donning caps and capes and mimicking voices long since silenced by the grave as he recounts adventures with old friends. As the young ones are led to their bedchambers, he sits and warms himself by the dying embers, steadily growing sleepy while the leaders discuss plans for the future and worry about rumors on the horizon. His shield, sword and scabbard lay unused in his chambers, but as the sun sets on another day, his heart dreams of a past where tyrannical madness threatened all goodbeasts in Mossflower, and as he clutches the hilt of his legendary sword, his bones remember their vitality and strength, and he is once again standing on a bluff, or winding through a dank dungeon, ready to slay any and all who stand against goodness, kindness and mercy. He pulls the blankets up to his chin and closes his eyes, and as his mind slips into another night’s dream, for an instant he imagines he can hear her voice calling again…‘Martin, be at peace; I will wait for you at the gates of Dark Forest…’
I, Frost, do solemnly affirm that I will maintain the example of my skill that is demonstrated by this application inside and outside of the writing level 1 boards and will always maintain the rules to the best of my ability.