Tick Tock Goes the Sand Clock (2nd Attempt)
Prestor last edited by
(Not sure what the rules are for this sort of thing, but I'd like to restart this project–if anyone's interested, just reply, and if it's against the rules, please tell me!)
"What is not perfected by nature is perfected by art."--Lord Deadwood, the Maker General.
"Some asked, in the past, why no one was allowed to master flame and lightning, why we could not hold the very stuff of the Universe in our paws and admire its fabric. I am here to answer that question."--Hirsa the Hunterbeast, before destroying the entire Maker settlement of Svenrock.
The world rarely sits still, philosophers claim. It is always changing. How is it then, that the world in which the woodlanders of Mossflower live never heard of guns, or clockwork, or the use of electric lights? What if it had? What if, rather than moving slowly, the world moved fast, and the great and small lived in an age of wonders?
This is a world where Makers live. Makers are, for the lack of a better term, madbeasts. They are the essence of Frankenstein mixed with the soul of Paracelsus. They create fabulous machines through instinct alone, where other beasts may have stumbled around in the dark for generations.
Already, in Redwall, the changes are apparent. The Makers of Redwall create clocks and small pistols, and busy themselves decyphering the secrets of electricity to light and warm the homes of goodbeasts everywhere, while the vermin outside the gates lay wastes to villages with cannons and frightening chemistries. And, somewhere to the North, in the inhospitable wastes, the Hunterbeasts are gathering. Already, Salamanderstron is preparing for the attack from the mysterious new vermin horde, rumored to possess a weapon greater than any made before, and the captains of the various pirate ships abandon their routes and ships to escape deeper into the continent.
The strange developments have done more than upset the balance of power, however. Because many Makers are vermin, Redwall has had to change their philosophies concerning their allies. Today, the representatives of Salamanderstron, leaders of Mossflower‘s many tribes and bandits, as well as several Makers meet under the Abbot, hoping to create some lasting pact. The fear of Hunterbeasts and their weapon has driven even the bitterest of foes to consider friendship, as both pirate and badger lord face enslavement and destruction.
You are one of those present at this meeting. Will you make Redwall Abbey your last stand, or will you betray it to the enemy at the gate? Will you support the strange inventions of Makers, or will you choose instead to shun the new dawn? Where do you stand in the clockwork of the world?
(( Secret information for players wishing to join!))
We need a number of good beasts, be they vermin or woodlander, villain or hero, at this meeting. All that is necessary is the desire to survive and thrive in this rapidly changing Mossflower. Choose any of your characters, and if you want, make them Makers. Just remember--Makers are obsessed with their creations and their hunger for power and knowledge is limitless. The technology available in this Redwall is considerably more advanced than Medieval, but has some limits. Think early Steampunk, with pistols, steam engines, and flying ships slowly pushing out swords, bare paws, and boats, so no laser guns replacing daggers, please, and if you must think in terms of sci fi, imagine the sketches of Leonardo Da Vinci coming to life, or the illustrations for A Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. The story is meant to be interactive, so you CAN change the plot drastically, including killing off the Abbot, taking over Mossflower (or even Redwall itself), and you CAN be a hero. Just remember--every action has an equal and opposite reaction, and have fun. I will include the first scene here and now, and any beast that wishes to apply, simply needs to write out a small fact list, like this:
Name: (name of character)
Affiliation (who are they working for? Are they a Maker working for Redwall, or a Salamnderstron Ambassador? Are they the leader of an escaping vermin horde wishing to stand and fight, or are they a simple shrew escaping from enslavement among the Hunterbeasts? All affiliations and titles are welcome and if they are singular in the story, will be awarded on the first claim)
Affiliation (ferret Maker, employed by the Abbot of Redwall.)
The small room felt cramped, filled with the scents of different beasts, some them the most vile of vermin and others the noblest lords. The window in the corner provided so little light that a mole sitting by the Abbot’s side had to squint just to see some of those that came to the meeting.
The closest to the mole was a strange ferret, his fur covered in saw dust. The newcomer, called Prestor, was a Maker, and a strong one at that. Of course, he was also vermin, and the mole could not for the life of him see how the Abbot could hire such a creature, let alone let him make speeches, waving some strange pistol-like device about, its magazine clip making unpleasant clicking noises.
“You see, dear friends, the reason we have worked so hard to have you all here with us today is simple. We are about to be attacked by an enemy we know little about. The few reports we have heard mention incredible war machines and chemical fires that burn even when dowsed with water. I’ve read today that the ship Scarred Bow was sunk on the northwestern shores, close to Salamanderstron. I am certain this makes neither the pirates nor the badger lord feel safe. We hope that through today’s meeting, we will finally make an alliance to crush these invaders.
I know some of you do not enjoy working together, and others believe the old rules of vermin and woodlander apply, but we must stand together, or else we shall all LIE together in the ground. With this in mind, I have a special test, to see which of you will join the cause of Redwall, and work on the plans to defeat the warlords of the Hunterbeasts, and which will be given provisions and sent away from the Abbey to do whatever they wish. All those wishing to work with the Abbot and myself, raise your right paw and tell us why you would help us.
Prestor looked around the room, his eyes searching for the paws that must rise, while the Abbot slowly reread the parchment page tightly clutched in his wrinkled gray paw. It read simply:
“The Western Borders will break within a week. Expect the Hunterbeast vermin to attack Mossflower by the end of the month. Martin defend the Abbey.
--Lord Deadwood, mouse General of the Makers, and your friend forever.