A large trail of pawtracks led into the desert. The buzzard let out a squawk of dismay: The pawtracks were headed towards his roost! The hawk flew with all the speed he could muster, thinking horrible thoughts about what might have befallen his mate and eggs. A fierce battle light gleamed in his eyes, for the buzzard is a strange bird, fierce and warlike when threatened, but foolish at the best of times. So intent was he upon slaying the imaginary enemies that he nearly flew over their camp without realizing it. The bird whirled about and threw himself into the nearest tent. The coarse fabric of the tent wall was shredded to pieces by the buzzard's beak and talons. Before he knew it, the bird had slain the occupants. Two weasels and a ferret lay dead upon the sand, their throats torn open. The buzzard was startled by his own ferocity, but only for a second. The last screams of the vermin had alerted their comrades. A rat burst through the tent flap, wielding a pike. He recoiled at the sight of the deadbeasts, and the bird seized the opportunity. The hapless rat screamed as his right ear was severed, before a talon pierced his chest and silenced him. Some beast, a stoat by the looks of him, was shoved through the aperture. He took one look at the carnage and turned tail, jumping through the hole in the tent and running for his life. The enraged bird gave chase, wings flapping furiously. The stoat chanced a look backwards. A hefty smack from the buzzard's wing knocked him flat before the talons clenched around his throat. The creature gave a pitiful gurgle. His body wrenched about in the dust as his face turned purple.

"Hoi, feather-face!"

The buzzard turned in fury to see who had addressed him. A crossbow bolt took him through the neck. The bird was killed instantly, falling on top of the stoat in a blizzard of feathers. A small crowd gathered around the carcass, none getting too close for fear that the mad buzzard was not really dead. Several were heard to mutter curses under their breath as they saw the destruction wreaked upon the tent.

"Hell's guts, Dengar, good job you got 'im wid the bow, or he'd've slain us all!"

"Hoho, ain't that the truth, matey, that were a fair mad hawk an' no mistake!"

The ferret Dengar smiled with grim satisfaction as he looked upon the intertwined bodies of the buzzard and stoat, locked together in death. There was something artistic about all that. His reviere was interrupted by the arrival of a pompous-looking stoat, flanked by a hooded ferret and a burly weasel. Jonder may have looked pompous and flabby, but underneath this he was an immensely strong beast, a capable fighter and an intelligent thinker, unlike most of his kind. Jonder surveyed the scene, his keen dark eyes flashing back and forth. The assembled vermin held their respective breath, waiting for Jonder's reaction. The stoat stood there observing for what seemed an age before turning and whispering a few words to the weasel on his right. The weasel strode forth and set about removing the buzzard's talons from the stoat's neck. After a considerable amount of grunting and straining the stoat was pried free. Ignoring him, the weasel dragged the bird over to Jonder, and dumped it on the sand with a grunt of accomplishment. Jonder circled the carcass once, then declared aloud,

"Light a fire, and cook this thing!"

The ragged beasts let up a cheer. A fire was lit. Late into the afternoon they sat around that bonfire, singing horrible songs in raspy voices, and everybeast's thoughts focused on one thing. The ultimate goal of their quest: Loamhedge Abbey, and the wondrous treasure therein!

Several miles to the west, a band of woodland creatures made their shambling way towards a small stony outcrop just visible on the horizon. Many of the beasts wore the traditional green habit of the Abbey Redwall, now rent and stained by the long trek through the woodlands and the exhausting climb up the cliff face. It was pure luck that the woodlanders had not found the slope by which the vermin had made their ascent. They would certainly have run in back of them and been slain without a second thought. A large hedgehog led the way, sweat rolling down his face as he trudged onward, his spikes rattling like the bones of a deadbeast. Behind him came a small contingent of mice, their tails dragging in the dust as they struggled to keep up with the hedgehog's lengthy strides. After the mice came the otters, bent nearly double under the weight of the packs they carried on their broad shoulders. A few squirrels were scattered amidst the group, the rest of which consisted mainly of voles and shrews. A huge badger brought up the rear, footpaws raising pillars of dust as she tramped on. At around dusk the younger beasts were clamouring for a rest. The hedgehog consented, and they made a merry little picnic on the sand. The meal lasted until it was quite dark. The bright pinpricks of the stars were visible on both horizons, in all directions as far as the eye could see. The stony ridge was easily visible even in the gloom of the hot summer night, looking as much like the half-buried spine of some gigantic dead lizard as it did rock, pointing strangely in a direct north/south line. Melgin the vole lay awake thinking, his paw resting on a thick tome borrowed from the Abbey gatehouse. He knew that somewhere out there, someplace off to the south lay the badger's head and the bell, two great stones shaped like their namesakes. Melgin's headfur frizzed just pondering how many seasons and years the monoliths had kept their vigil, standing guard over the southern deserts. How dearly he would love to study those guardians. To think that humble Melgin Bankvole would be able to witness the twin giants of Abbey lore! It made him all foozled inside. Eventually sleep came to him. His last conscious thought was about the goal of his quest: Loamhedge Abbey, and the wondrous knowledge therein!

The sun rose hot and heady the next day, and the vermin had covered a considerable distance during the night. They were near sprinting, wishing to make the stone ridge before mid-day. The vermin were completely unaware of the band of woodlanders still slumbering away on the other side of the rocks as they dashed pell-mell through the sand, their footpaws flapping dully on the tight-packed dusty sand and their tails streaming out behind them. Precisely at mid-day Dengar the ferret was the first to touch the ridge, amid raucous cheers from those following behind. As winner of the race, he was awarded a large flagon of good dark damson wine to wet his throat. Unnoticed by the vermin, the woodlanders had also made the ridge on the other side. The Abbeybeasts collapsed breathless upon the sand, thanking the fates that they had made it this far. A scrawny rat, rather disappointed that he had lost the sprint to the ridge, climbed up a ways and sulked. For a good time the rat thought horrible thoughts about what he'd do to fix Dengar up right if he got half of a chance. A grain of sand, tossed about by the hot winds that traversed the desert, managed to lodge itself securely betwixt his eye and eyelid. The rat let out a long stream of curses and shrieks, scratching at the offending particle and nearly blinding himself in the process. This went on for about twelve minutes, at which point the rat managed to flick the sand out on to the rock. Still grumbling something about the grain of sand's legitimacy, he happened to glance downward to the other side of the ridge. He saw the woodlanders setting up tents and chunnering to each other about how hot it was. The rat wasted no time in scrabbling down from the ledge and informing Jonder of what he had seen. The stoat smiled wickedly, and began to lay plans for attack. Two minutes later, the vermin began to scale the rock, jumping from ledge to narrow ledge or hauling themselves and their compatriots up along the stones. The fighters were perched perfectly on top of the ridge, ready to hurl their bodies on top of the tents and catch the goodbeasts by surprise, when an ominous groaning sound was heard. Jonder was at the top of the ridge when he heard it, and one thing flashed through him: Earthquake! There was no more time for thought as the ridge and the land surrounding it buckled inward, gashing a crack in the earth. The crack widened, sucking in sand as a drowning beast inhales air. Some of the vermin who had been left behind were caught in sand's current and dragged into the bowels of the earth. Without warning the earth on both sides of the ridge was heaved up, tossing countless tonnes of sand into the winds, casting an impenetrable cloud of dust over the horrid scene. The earth buckled again, like a sudden exhalation. The desert sands about both camps crumbled and the ridge was torn to pieces. The relentless winds blew gusts of sand over the fallen bodies; scattered about like ninepins. Little by little the sand rose, covering the dead in a shallow, shifting grave.

And thus began the journey.

Team One's Story(536KB) ~ Team Two's Story(585KB) ~ After Merge(763KB)
Story files last updated: 19th May 2005
Total pages to date: Uncounted.