Friend of my Frienemy [Max, Open]

[Maxodis]

"Well...it would be convenient. I won't lie about that, having you around isn't exactly easy...but less of a burden?...no."

Setting the two cups in the snow at his footpaws, Redin reached out, plucking the full pitcher from Tirael. He remained quiet as the otter went on, pouring a respectable amount of the translucent amber liquid into each cup.

"We get one chance at life, and...I know you think I'm naive. I probably am. But I lived in a warzone, and all that time...so many lives were just...ended. On both sides."

"They can't get life back. You--you still have it. And before you decide it's not worth it anymore, I want you to remind yourself why you've bothered with it this whole time."

The weasel watched Tirael's eyes carefully as the otter's gaze rose to meet his own.

"Death isn't going anywhere. Don't abandon life without knowing what you're going to lose."

Redin remained quiet for a long minute as he held the healer's eyes with his own, only the sounds of their breathing breaking the frozen silence. He was searching those blue depths for something, but what? Sincerity? The otter certainly had enough of that. What reason would Tirael have to lie? Was it really so hard to believe that an otter had the ability to show concern for a weasel? Even a monster such as himself?

Yes. Either this was a world gone mad, or he was insane in a world that had turned right.

A slight smile tugged at the sides of the weasel's maw as he extended an arm towards Tirael, holding one of the filled brass cups gingerly in his claws, and placed it in the snow at the otter's footpaws. "Well said," he rumbled, leaning back and bringing his cup to his lips. He took a small sip of the liquid, stilling for a moment as he processed the flavor. Arching a brow, he eyed the liquid in his cup. "Apple cider. 'Tain't strong, but it'll do."

He took another deep sip of the cider, glancing away to avoid the otter's intent eyes. He had so much to say, the difficulty was having it make sense. "Remind m'self why I bothered wit' livin' fer all this time, eh?" Redin chuckled slightly shaking his head. "T'be 'onest, otter? Fer most o' m'life I believed th' purpose of my existence t'be bringin' an end to others." His amber eyes hardened as they met Tirael's. "Wit'out rhyme nor reason. Young, old. Vermin, goodbeast. Male, female. Dinn't matter." He took another slow sip before continuing. "I already told ye, I've been searchin' fer death fer a long time now. Couldn't begin t'tell ye 'ow many times I've thrown m'self inta fights I shouldn't 'ave survived, 'ow many wounds I've taken where I shoulda died." His grip on the brass cup tightened. "Or 'ow many times I tried t'kill m'self... only to wake up an' find tha' I failed again. I've come t'believe tha' my life ain't mine to live, or end fer tha' matter. I ain't pullin' th' strings, and 'aven't fer some time. But I get th' feelin' I know who... or what, is."

[Tirael]

"Well said."

Watching Redin pour out the mystery drink, Tirael reflected on how bizarre this conversation was. It had no precedent. As long as he'd known the weasel, he'd seen few semblances of reasonableness. Not that any of my friends would do much better, he thought to himself with a mental sigh. Most creatures he knew would probably draw their sword, or their bow, or whatever they had, rather than talk like this.

This didn't happen nearly often enough.

"Apple cider. 'Tain't strong, but it'll do."

His more philosophical thoughts replaced by a relief that he hadn't picked out something like whiskey, Tirael took a tentative sip from his own cup. It wasn't as bitter as he expected, though to be fair, the last taste of alcohol he'd had was of a more...potent brew. Still, it was best take this slowly, so he decided to limit himself to the occasional sip as he listened to Redin's confession.

"So...you're not in control of your own life," he reiterated. "What is, then? It seems like a lot of work to manipulate a creature's entire life like that."

[Maxodis]

"So...you're not in control of your own life... What is, then? It seems like a lot of work to manipulate a creature's entire life like that."

Redin chuckled softly, the frail bells on his face-chains ringing clearly in the cold night air. "Aye 'tis a lot o' work... unless ye let it guide yer life, step by step, word fer word, down to every bloody 'eartbeat." He tipped the brass cup back as its cold rim pressed against his lips, drinking deeply from it. The alcohol was already beginning to warm his stomach, a clear indication of good alcohol. Shame the otter hadn't agreed to let Redin drink his fill. But back to business.

"I'm prob'bly not makin' much sense, so let me say it like this," He gestured widely around him with his free paw. "Ye called this place a warzone... otter, y'don't know th' 'alf o' it. I've lived a bit longer'n yew... an' 'ave lived a far different life." His lips pulled back in a rueful grin. "They called me vermin. Vermin... Vermin lived 'ere. Ruled 'ere. Did wotever they bloody well chose, to whoever 'appened t'be in th' wrong place at th' wrong time. My kind ain't ever 'ad that good o' a reputation otter, but N'Tashi an' 'is ilk worked 'ard to secure it as bad." He straightened his back, looking down at Tirael "An' sure 'nuff, soon as I step foot inter this place I get 'alf a dozen spear'eads ticklin' my whiskers. An' fer wot? Cos I'm a Weasel? Cos I'm a vermin?"

He deflated somewhat with a mild sigh. "I ain't tryin' t'make ye believe tha' I ain't wot yer kind call vermin. If anythin'," He paused, his amber eyes catching Tirael's meaningfully. "I'm th' epitome o' a vermin." His serious expression broke with a sharp bark of a laugh. "But yew already figgered tha' out, I've seen it in yer eyes. My point though ain't tha' yer kind saw us as trash dirtyin' yer perfect world... its tha' such a belief 'as a way o' makin' itself come true. My point is tha' wot yew called a warzone, I knew as Hell itself."

[Tirael]

Tirael listened solemnly, no longer looking Redin in the eye. He was too busy thinking, mulling over everything the weasel was saying. He deflated slightly when Redin mentioned having seen distaste in his eyes; close-minded was the last thing he wanted to seem right now. But at the same time, what he was hearing...it didn't sound right. Not to him, anyways.

After taking another sip from his cup, the otter sighed. "You have a point, but...that can't be enough." Glancing around the grounds for a moment as he thought of a way to explain what he was thinking, he continued. "Someone has to say no to this. I mean, one of my friends is a sable. I know most of 'my kind' don't treat her as well as they should, but she hasn't gone around enslaving or murdering because they're intolerant. If everybeast would get used to it, then everything would be perfect."

Turning back to Redin, Tirael began to take on a more hopeful, even pleading, tone. "Both sides have to agree on this, and not one at a time. If we suddenly decided to let our guard down completely, then we'd be overrun by vermin just like N'tashi. And what's happening to Soko is just wrong. But if you just accept it, then nothing good will ever come, just more pointless hatred and bloodshed."

[Tarlish]

Tarlish was getting impatient, shivering outside the imposing wooden gates. He had been waiting for almost ten minutes and still no one answered his call! It all stood to reason he admitted to himself, could he really expect himself to be heard over the massive walls and gates. Perhaps they were too far to hear his knock, that would be sensible.

He had to get inside, one way or the other. His head turned skyward into the falling snow, looking for inspiration, inspiration which he found quickly in the form of a tree rather close to the wall tops.

He grimaced; it was a long jump ever for him. But it may be preferable to standing outside freezing his fur off. Mind set then on, he dashed over to the tree, gripped it firmly in his paws and quickly began to climb up, taking advantage of our jutting branches and bumps in the tree’s bark surface.

Moving as well as any squirrel the marten soon reached the top, finding himself looking over the abbey walls and into the white and beautiful grounds. Quite nice, he reflected personally. He hoped to live long enough to get there.

On all fours he slowly edged on all fours to the tip of an out jutting tree branch. Then, mentally judging the distance and force he would need to survive, he coiled up his back legs and leaped.

Flying through the cold air, robes rippling around him, he prepared to try and do a tuck-and-roll maneuver, coming to a halt as well as possible. He hit the stone rampart, but his force carried him over the inner lip of the wall, sending him plummeting to the ground below.

Tarlish realized this in a flash and, controlling his panic, whipped around in midair to try and grab the wall. Nothing, the smooth wall offered no catching grace. But fifteen feet from the ground, Tarlish had an idea. He turned himself and shoved himself off the wall and breaking his velocity while moving forward.

This saved his life; he came to a crash in a pile of snow with a clumsy oof. He lay there for a moment in the pile of white cold, hearing nothing but only his own heavy breathing and the noise of his pounding heart.

Then, pulling himself from the pile, snow encrusting his features, he jumped up and looked around. The grounds seemed empty, no surprise. He quickly made his way across the snow-blanketed grass, searching out for any signs of life.

Nothing, the cold and quiet snowy night continued to gently pummel the lands with soft, wispy snow.

He continued his search, padded feet softly plodding and crunching against thr planets white blanket.

Voices!

"...And what's happening to Soko is just wrong. But if you just accept it, then nothing good will ever come, just more pointless hatred and bloodshed."

Tarlish nearly stopped, he knew not about what was being said, but he really had to introduce himself after climbing over the gates. Jogging for the two figures near what appeared to be an iced over pond, he waved his hand and called out in greeting.

'Hello there! I apologize for my rather impromptu entrance, but none were answering my knocks at the gate you see." He came to a stop then, ten feet from them. "I take this to then be the Abbey of Redwall? Sorry, let me introduce myself before anything else. My name is Tarlish you see, and I am an assassin. I normal winter lodge was raided and destroyed and I am wondering if your fabled hospitality could lend me a helping paw, let me stay here until thing warm up and I may leave."

[Maxodis]

(( Few things mate:

We already set the scene to be one o' those eerily silent snowy nights, so any and all noise made by Tarlish would be heard clearly.

Redin and Tirael are outside, talking by the frozen pond, not inside.

We also already established that Redin and Tirael were the only ones up at the late hour, so there wouldn't be anyone else inside to say hello to anyway. ))

[Tarlish]

((Ach! Foolishness I commit! I shall amen with due haste, although I assumed you were inside due to the positioning of this thread. Regardless I shall fix!))

(('Tis fixed, I think it to be sufficient.))

[Maxodis]

"You have a point, but...that can't be enough. Someone has to say no to this. I mean, one of my friends is a sable. I know most of 'my kind don't treat her as well as they should, but she hasn't gone around enslaving or murdering because they're intolerant. If everybeast would get used to it, then everything would be perfect."

"Both sides have to agree on this, and not one at a time. If we suddenly decided to let our guard down completely, then we'd be overrun by vermin just like N'tashi. And what's happening to Soko is just wrong. But if you just accept it, then nothing good will ever come, just more pointless hatred and bloodshed."

The weasel chuckled darkly as he drank from his cider. "Aye, I noticed as much. E'er since yore kind moved in, things 'ave been changin'." Redin shook his head with quiet disbelief. "Not two weeks ago, I saw a ferret in some kinda wheel-chair makin' friends wit' a molemaid. Lived 'ere my whole bloody life, and I ain't never seen th' like. This world ain't wot it used t'be." Absently, he reached out to grab the pitcher to refill his cup, more for an excuse to stop talking for a moment than to top off his drink. "I ain't sayin' its a bad change... 'ell this might jes' be th' way that things're s'pposed t'be after all. Wot I'm sayin' is tha' yer young. Them two unlikely friends I saw were young. Yer sable friend is prolly young too. Do ye see th' pattern 'ere? Yew still got th' rest o' yer lives t'change things. New ideas ain't so impossible fer yew. Myself?" A pained smile spread over his features as he sat back, spreading his arms wide. "I cain't change. Not no more. Ain't so much tha' I'm older, or tha' I cain't accept makin' friendly wit' otters like yew." His voice dropped slightly with shame, yet his eyes burned with a fiery intensity, challenging Tirael to judge him otherwise. "I survived too bloody long in tha' Hell. I 'ad t'do too many 'orrible things jes' t'stay alive." He lowered his scarred arms, seeming to wilt slightly. "Worse, I 'ad t'learn to love wot I was doin'. It shaped me, otter. Body an' bloody soul." He managed a smile at Tirael, the bitterness behind it epitomizing his acknowledgment that the world was becoming a place where he was not welcome.

With a deep, settling breath, he sat back. "But, like I said, I 'aven't been exactly th' architect o' my life. I made a mistake, long ago, in order t'live this miserable life. Y'see..." He trailed off, his expression falling flat. He remained almost perfectly still, save for his ears, which swiveled back. Over the steady sound of his pulse beating in his ears, he heard... crunching? The weasel ignored Tirael's look of confusion as his fatigued mind worked hard to make sense of the peculiar noise. It was a silent night otherwise, the sound of crunching could only mean...

'Hello there! I apologize for my rather impromptu entrance, but none were answering my knocks at the gate you see. I take this to then be the Abbey of Redwall? Sorry, let me introduce myself before anything else. My name is Tarlish you see, and I am an assassin. I normal winter lodge was raided and destroyed and I am wondering if your fabled hospitality could lend me a helping paw, let me stay here until thing warm up and I may leave."

Pawsteps. Naturally. The weasel silently cursed his poor health. Under normal conditions, Redin would have long since heard the Marten coming, guessed roughly what manner of creature he was from how he trudged through the snow, and how to get the most enjoyment from killing him. The weasel shook his head, shutting out such thoughts.

Instead, he appraised the stranger. The creature was peculiarly colored, if nothing else. And well-armed, but he'd mentioned his profession as an assassin, and quite openly at that. There was much that could be said about the curious individual. Redin glanced from the Pine Marten to Tirael from over his brass cup as he drank deeply from it, before speaking to the otter, his voice tinged with amusement. "This un's all you, otter. I ain't sayin' shit."

[Tirael]

Aye, I noticed as much. E'er since yore kind moved in, things 'ave been changin'." Redin shook his head with quiet disbelief. "Not two weeks ago, I saw a ferret in some kinda wheel-chair makin' friends wit' a molemaid. Lived 'ere my whole bloody life, and I ain't never seen th' like. This world ain't wot it used t'be."

Tirael smiled faintly; that sounded exactly like the same optimistic, abnormal thing he'd done a lot of within the past couple years. While Redin poured himself extra cider, he found himself wondering what that meeting must have been like; the image alone was so bizarre that it pleased the otter to no end. It was nice to know he wasn't the only one making friends with the 'enemy,' even if two out of three were less than wholesome.

I ain't sayin' its a bad change... 'ell this might jes' be th' way that things're s'pposed t'be after all. Wot I'm sayin' is tha' yer young. [...] I cain't change. Not no more. Ain't so much tha' I'm older, or tha' I cain't accept makin' friendly wit' otters like yew."

Having broken from his thoughts about the mole-ferret incident shortly after Redin resumed speaking, Tirael instead thought on what the weasel had mentioned about him being young. He knew plenty of creatures around his age; why did most of them not think this way? He'd always assumed it was because he was just weird, but if Redin's opinion was anything to go by, that was a good thing.

Tirael felt special.

"I survived too bloody long in tha' Hell. I 'ad t'do too many 'orrible things jes' t'stay alive." He lowered his scarred arms, seeming to wilt slightly. "Worse, I 'ad t'learn to love wot I was doin'. It shaped me, otter. Body an' bloody soul."

Of all the 'vermin' Tirael had run into in his life, not one of them had ever seemed to apologize for the lifestyle they'd lived. As Redin had said, they'd been doing their best to give the rest of their kind a bad name. And even Sleet, the only one the otter had formed something resembling a friendship with, was quite accepting of her occupation--whether or not she acknowledged just how horrific it was.

Despite himself, the healer realized, he was starting to feel more for Redin than Sleet. Whether or not she acknowledged her occupation was a rather horrific one, he couldn't imagine her ever being remorseful about it. He couldn't have imagined Redin feeling that way either, but then, he'd only seen the raving lunatic that wandered about the woods yelling at every creature he saw; this weasel was very different.

"But, like I said, I 'aven't been exactly th' architect o' my life. I made a mistake, long ago, in order t'live this miserable life. Y'see..."

Leaning in subconsciously to listen to the next part of the story, it took Tirael a moment to realize that Redin wasn't talking anymore. Doing his best not to sound impatient, he said, "What, what's wro--" A split second before Tarlish walked up, he heard what had distracted Redin, but it didn't prepare him at all.

'Hello there! I apologize for my rather impromptu entrance, but none were answering my knocks at the gate you see. I take this to then be the Abbey of Redwall? Sorry, let me introduce myself before anything else. My name is Tarlish you see, and I am an assassin. I normal winter lodge was raided and destroyed and I am wondering if your fabled hospitality could lend me a helping paw, let me stay here until thing warm up and I may leave."

"This un's all you, otter. I ain't sayin' shit."

Staring rather stupidly at Tarlish, 'otter' tried, and failed, to come up with a response. The sheer randomness of the situation was getting to him, and try as he might, he couldn't get a sentence to form in his brain, much less come out of his mouth in one piece. "You--it...but...uh?" was the best he could manage, still looking slack-jawed the marten.

[Tarlish]

Tarlish's white winter robes fluttered just a bit in the wind. Now realizing how truly bizarre and random his appearance was to these startled beasts. Speaking of whom, the marten could now see who he was talking to, an otter and...

A weasel.

A vermin.

Tarlish's eyes flushed of emotion as they transformed, giving the weasel the look a predator gives his prey when he's hungry. By reflex Tarlish's forearm muscles flexed, sliding out the hidden blade as he prepared to step towards the target.

Wait.

Intelligence and cunning pierced the single-minded focus possessing him. For whatever reason, the Redwallers allowed the vermin to live here. Tarlish didn’t know why, but he was certain that they wouldn’t be so keen on showing him hospitality if his initial reaction was to slay one of their guests.

The assassin quickly slid the blade back into its sheath with a movement of his robbed hand, disguising hit. He would show the Redwallers the truth of vermin in time. His face split into an awkward grin at the two as he went along with the strangeness of his showing.

“My apologies for my sudden appearance, but as I said, I really need a place to wait out for the duration of the worst part of winter and I was hoping the famous hospitality of Redwall would be as so gracious as to give a beast a helping paw in his time of need.”

[Tirael]

“My apologies for my sudden appearance, but as I said, I really need a place to wait out for the duration of the worst part of winter and I was hoping the famous hospitality of Redwall would be as so gracious as to give a beast a helping paw in his time of need.”

Unsure of whether to pay more attention to the rather amiable apology or the armory that seemed to be strapped to Tarlish, Tirael still struggled to come up with a suitable response. How the marten had managed to get into the Abbey grounds still escaped him, and the creature was admittedly an assassin. Finding it hard not to be defensive, Tirael wished he had a staff with him; the only 'weapon' he had was the little pitcher that sat beside him and Redin.

Well, if he's willing to be unarmed, that's a good sign, the healer thought to himself. "Um...o-of course, but..." Pointing to the weapons covering Tarlish, he cleared his throat and said, "We don't wield weapons here, you'd have to let go of them during your stay." Overcome by curiosity, he followed up with a question. "And--h-how'd you get in?"

[Maxodis]

Having made his intent to keep silent clear, Redin was more than happy to sit back and observe. He paid particularly close attention to the assassin when the Marten's eyes fell upon him. It was almost impossible to miss the drastic change that occurred in the creature's eyes. It was a look he had seen in Sleet countless times, often against him. The battle-worn weasel met the other's glare with quiet, fearless confidence. The aura of tension surrounding the Marten was almost palpable, and the polar opposite to the impenetrable calm about Redin.

Then, abruptly, the tension broke.

“My apologies for my sudden appearance, but as I said, I really need a place to wait out for the duration of the worst part of winter and I was hoping the famous hospitality of Redwall would be as so gracious as to give a beast a helping paw in his time of need.”

Keeping his eyes on the assassin, Redin tipped his cup back to drink from it slowly. He hid his inner amusement as he considered what Sleet's reaction to this character would be. Somehow, he had the vague impression that she would actually delight in verbally tearing this creature to shreds.

"Um...o-of course, but... We don't wield weapons here, you'd have to let go of them during your stay. And--h-how'd you get in?"

"Doan' bother," Redin cut in, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Askin' an assassin 'ow they get 'round is pointless. It jes' comes naturally to 'em."He set his now empty cup into the fresh snow at his footpaws. The cider had been better than he'd given it credit for, he was feeling pleasantly warm. The wrenching pains of his body that had accumulated over weeks of little rest and food was slightly more tolerable. There was still the feeling that he was only functioning through sheer force of will. In reality, he probably was.

"Yer likely t'get th' same amount of success in gettin' this 'un to give up all o' 'is weapons," He continued, his eyes not leaving the assassin as he addressed Tirael. "Only 'e knows 'ow many 'idden weapons 'e's got on 'im... an' where they are."

He rose slowly, exhibiting a strength he did not currently feel. He was easily similar in height to the Marten. Even ravaged by his poor health, he still bristled imposingly when compared to the lean assassin. His eyes, while still filled with a serene confidence, were touched by genuine amusement.

"Tarlish, was it? Yew mentioned bein' an assassin, and I'll admit I'm inclined t'beleive ya. Clearly yew kill creatures. Y'don't seem t'be the type t'regret it either. These woodlanders 'ere... see, they doan' 'ppreciate tha' sort o' thing." He gestured to Tirael. "Matter o' fact, most o' 'em 'ave been fightin' their entire lives t'push out th' creatures who lived like that not too long ago."

He took a single step closer to Tarlish. He was still a respectable distance from the Marten, but the action itself was the threatening display. Redin feared very little, and this assassin did not make the list. True, in his current state, if he pushed a fight it was very likely that he would die. Death was not on Redin's list of fears either. His smile grew with his simple confidence, even as the words he spoke were sour. "Yew were wrong t'come 'ere, assassin. Givin' yew a place t'stay would be in essence helpin' yew live t'kill another creature. This otter 'ere... y'see he's this place's 'ealer. 'E was jes' tellin' me 'bout 'ow every life 'as got value. Ye'll find tha' th' rest of th' creatures 'ere mostly agree with 'im." He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into a venomous murmur. "We doan' like yer kind 'ere."

[Tarlish]

he otter as still understandably having trouble trying to fully come to terms with the situation.
He looked like he was a complete loss for words, Tarlish waited patiently however. Then he managed to point at the blades strapped to him and stuttered out that, simply, he would have to be disarmed before entering the Abbey, he also managed to ask how Tarlish had gotten over the walls.

The very thought of being weaponless made Tarlish’s eyes widen in alarm, but they cooled
just as quickly back to their previous state. He understood their concern, and he also decided that if he really wanted shelter he would have to go along with them.

But before he could say a thing, the weasel who had returned Tarlish’s stare with absolute fearlessness, broke in. and pushed aside the otter’s question of how he entered. He went on, explaining to his fried about how getting the marten to disarm himself was a waste of time.

Then the weasel turned on him, claiming he was an assassin and more or less the very creature the Redwallers strived to keep out of their walled up sanctuary. Irked at this, Tarlish turned towards it as it finished up its little talk, saying Redwall didn’t want him there in a very sour tone of voice.

Tarlish, quite annoyed and even a little angry now at being called such a detestable thing, raised his voice as he broke out into a mix of normal and southern dialect.

“Parsqu! Do not call me such things, djerie! I would never raise my blade towards the innocent, my steel and abilities are reserved only for the ver-dasdha’s who infect this land like a canker sickness, the kdres’s who kill the innocent!” He had thought it best not to say he was a vermin-killer, that would not get him an open-armed welcome. His eyes did blaze with anger at the suggestion he was like one of the vermin assassins, the butchers and killers of innocent. Then, his anger faded and the fire in his eyes faded. His tone became more respectful again as he calmy explained himself. “My apologies for that outburst, but please do not put my name among the ranks of the villains I hunt.” His voice sounded almost terrified to his very soul at that mere notion.

Then, turning to the otter, he perked up to a kinder demeanor and readily answered his inquiries. “Yes, I got in my climbing that high tree there and jumping off an out-jutting branch onto the battlements, I slipped off though and just managed to kick myself off the wall before hitting the ground.” He pointed towards the tree. “And as for my weapons, I will be happy to surrender them into your hands.

With that said he quickly slid off the belt around his waist and handed it to the otter, sword, dagger, sheath and belt. Then he pulled off the belt of throwing knives and also handed it over. Finally, he slid off the left-forearm mounted gauntlet containing the hidden blade and passed it likewise to the otter.”Please care for it, ‘tis special to myself.”

[Tirael]

Tirael was somewhat surprised when Redin cut into the conversations; after all, he'd just made a point of saying that he wouldn't say anything. Surprise gave way to dismay, however, as the weasel began verbally eviscerating Tarlish. It was more confusing than alarming, though, as the words coming out of Redin's mouth were from the same school of thought they'd both just denounced as prejudiced and wrong.

Had they been having two different conversations?

Watching helplessly, the otter decided he'd just sit this one out. Things never went well when he tried to intervene; it had gotten him beaten over the head and tied up twice, and he had no interest in anything of that sort happening now. They'd shout themselves out before long; sure enough, after some ranting in a language Tirael had never heard, the assassin began to remove his weaponry.

“Yes, I got in my climbing that high tree there and jumping off an out-jutting branch onto the battlements, I slipped off though and just managed to kick myself off the wall before hitting the ground.”

It was difficult to imagine Tarlish taking a flying leap over the walltop, but as he was here and he could come up with no better explanation, Tirael decided he'd have to accept the answer he'd gotten, at least for now. Aware of how upset Redin had been when he'd simply allowed Streamlilly to walk into the Abbey without real suspicion, though, he gave the weasel a glance, as if to say I'm not COMPLETELY taken in by this.

”Please care for it, ‘tis special to myself.”

Grunting as Tarlish unloaded weapon after weapon into his paws, Tirael soon found himself rather overladen with sharp, unforgiving metal. Being somewhat smaller than the marten, he found it that much harder to handle, but he had no intention of admitting that. "...right then. This way." Nodding his head toward the Abbey building, he focused as much as he could on balancing. "It's a bit late to make you up a guest room, but you can sleep in the infirmary for tonight."

[Maxodis]

“Parsqu! Do not call me such things, djerie! I would never raise my blade towards the innocent, my steel and abilities are reserved only for the ver-dasdha’s who infect this land like a canker sickness, the kdres’s who kill the innocent!”

Redin stood undaunted, scarred arms crossed imperiously across his chest, as the Marten spat foreign curses at his face. His slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at the assassin's tirade.

“My apologies for that outburst, but please do not put my name among the ranks of the villains I hunt.”

The weasel stifled a harsh chuckle, his eyes lingering briefly on the assassin for merely a moment before they shifted back to Tirael. He caught the healer's sidelong glance and turned away. He'd said his piece, made his point. What remained was to explain it to the otter, to drive its significance to the rest of what he had to say.

"...right then. This way."

Redin stared out over the frozen lake, silent once more, as promised. His thoughts were already elsewhere. He was done, no longer interested in either otter or marten. He had already made his commitment to speaking to the healer, and only the healer, who was sworn to silence under the pain of torture. He had nothing more to say.

((Bleh. Backing out of this thread for the time being so that y'all can go off on a tangent if you want. I'm not gonna be as available for posting for the next week or so anyway. Have at it, we'll finish this eventually Tir))