((pm if ya want in ^^ ))
Winter is a dreaded fiend. Its grasp chills beasts to the bone, locking them in a cold embrace forever. Once upon a time, winter was viewed as such, and even more. Beasts saw it as a colder season in which snow fell. While it had its infamous frigid nature, some beasts actually found comfort during its reign. After all, building snowmice was a hobby at Redwall Abbey for the youngsters.
However, recent years had taught all beasts of Redwall to fear the coming of winter. Gone was the joyous Redwall Abbey. After season upon season, year upon year, someone had finally taken over the Abbey. It was thought impossible, but finally, vermin perseverance prevailed.
Nolvolf Darkmoon had succeeded. The vicious wolf wore an iron fist. The Abbey had put up a valiant fight, but in the end failed. After taking it over, Nolvolf's army and loyal subjects even betrayed the vermin of Mossflower.
Abbey dwellers forever became slaves, servants, working in and around the Abbey. Vermin and some gentlebeasts in Mossflower became peasants, low class workers, merchants.
Oh, but Nolvolf's tyranny did not end there, not at all. Salamandastron? Decimated. It serves as a graveyard, a grim reminder of the final struggle to hold Nolvolf from attaining complete control. Unfortunately, their struggle was futile. Hares and the last badger lord perished, their names lost to the sands of time.
Sure, Nolvolf then could have stretched out to foreign lands, or even deeper into the land Mossflower Country sat on, but he didn't. After all, he didn't need to. He had his own little kingdom, empire, seat of rule, however you want to put it. The wolf's powerful greed paid off quite well in his eyes.
The Darkmoon family itself stretched five generations now, each ruler just as tyrannical as the founder himself. The Abbey? Smack dab at the back of large city. At the end of Mossflower sits a port town. In the middle, a very small town. The rest of Mossflower? Woods and a village here and there.
Who heads the Mossflower "kingdom" now? Tyrian Nolvolf Darkmoon. The large brute is a mirror image of his distant relative. His eyes, black as an abyss. His fur, dark gray. His claws? Large enough to rip a seductive grin off any adder.
A pretty grim image has been painted, has it not? Well, it doesn't get any better. Winter truly is a fiend. Tyrian knows winter is the harshest season and thus when he's the hardest on his "weaker" subjects. Does he care? No. In fact, that's when he taxes the most. It's "population control." He gets rid of the Mossflower insects and keeps his followers, guards, etc. healthy.
Some say the winter will be the worst ever. Others say it'll the winter that one beast is pushed around one time too many….
Snow placed its chilly blanket over Mossflower. Trudging through the endless blanket was a pair of beasts: a ferret and rat. If anything, the ferret did all the trudging though. The poor rat leaned weakly on his ferret ally.
The ferret itself was lean, yet fit, sturdy in other words. He was composed of the standard ferret fur color. If anything stuck out it was his one emerald green eye. The left eye was shielded by a heavy black cloth tied diagonally around his head.
He wore a heavy black cloak, wrapped tightly around his body. The hood was up, providing only slight warmth. A longsword and shield was slung across his back, both of which looked very worn. In fact the crest on the shield was almost gone. The symbol? Unknown to anyone save for he and maybe a choice set of beasts on the Darkmoon Council. Good thing it was worn away too, for if anyone knew his identity, he'd be the most significant hanging in ages.
Greck, as he called himself, looked to his rat companion. The rat was suffering a major blade wound to his torso. Greck shook his head. Their journey was tiring. He didn't know how much longer he could carry Burro.
Trying to be as gentle as possible, Greck plopped the rat against a tree. The ferret stood tall, panting. He rubbed his gloved paws together and looked in every direction. Smoke! the ferret's mind boomed anxiously. His emerald eye found its way back to Burro and a small smile formed on his features. "Hey, Burro…look...smoke, we're almost there eh? Looks like that Darkmoon guard didn't succeed eh? Told ya we'd pass through Mossflower jus' fine."
"Heh...mate...no...tis okay...you go on..." the rat replied weakly, his eyes shutting.
Greck shook his head, bending over and attempting to lift the bloodied rat once more. "Ahh no no, no. No. C'mon Burro, we're almost there eh? Jus' a couple more miles. Beast would be crazy to refuse to treat you if we pay them. If rumors are true about this Mossflower place, beasts are despe-"
"Stop...please...Greck...I could see it in yer eye this whole day mate...I'm dyin'...you're gettin' tired yerself...please...jus' keep goin'..." Burro almost pleaded, a tear freezing up on his face as soon as it fell.
Greck shook his head, but was forced to say no more. He knew his companion's mind was made when a small bloodied necklace was plopped into the ferret's paw. Greck raised a brow and smirked lightly.
"Mate, wha's this?"
"...you wanted to know why I agreed to pass through 'ere?...promise me...if you find a mouse family by the name of Lightbreeze...tis theirs...they're distant cous..." Burro stopped, choking on the sinister cold air. He shook his head gently, patted Greck's paw. "I can see the Darkforest mate...tisn't...tisn't...so....bad..."
Greck's smirk contorted. A frown became apparent on his features. Heaving a sigh he gave his deceased companion a long hug. With that, the ferret turned his back and continued onward to the smoke in the distance. He was now alone and desperate for food...
((kinda rushed too, sorry Temp ^^;))