Disclaimer- Sadly, I do not own any of the characters from Outcast of Redwall. Brian Jacques does.
Broken
Chapter One- Whatever You Became
Notice- This is my first Redwall fanfic, so flame me if you really feel like it, but don't expect me to stop writing! Now that that is cleared up, here's some things you can be aware of. I will never use Swartt's point of view in this story. You'll find out soon enough why. Okay then, to the story!
Extracts From the Writing of Captain Scarback
I cannot say what happened to him, but whatever did this to him, I am deathly afraid of. Something is different about him, something's changed deep inside his soul, a soul that I began to question existed. Now I see through this mist he has shrouded himself with all of these seasons, and I see something that was never meant to show. Insanity? Melancholy? What is it that made him this way?
It's something that transformed fear to pity. I pity him, him, Swartt Sixclaw! How is this? When he once pitied me? What have you become, lord, that I feel sorry for you? What has done this to you? Why is it like this? I hate it!
It's a strange thing to see him in this state of...well, there is no word I can use to describe what he is now. He has an extremely frail aura, and I can never understand.
I will never understand.
Whatever you became.
Scarback put down the quill and stared off into the canvas of the tent, the rosy light of the candles dancing against it. He was alone, listening to the silence of a enigmatic night. Some would call it silence, but there was never a point in which there was an absence of sound. Scarback did not know the sound of silence, and sometimes he wished he had. It would be such a spectacular event to hear nothing, whether it be the words of others, the screams of fallen enemies, or the thud of his heart. Sometimes things would just be better silent.
The weasel assassin leaned his head against the scratchy, wet blanket who's task was to keep him warm, a task never before accomplished. He laid flat with his belly against the small blanket, feeling the wet earth soaking through it, indifferent to his environment.
Something was going on, whether it be sinister or just plain strange, that broke the warlord Swartt Sixclaw, once known as the Pitiless One.
Scarback remembered the day he'd left. He'd spoken with Scarback once before he had left, and that was about setting up camp. Scarback thought it peculiar that they had set up camp after such a short walking distance, and so early. Strangely, it was around noon. Normally, they would be forced to march until sunset.
Afterwards, there were no accounts as of where he'd gone. No one saw him leave, no one heard him say anything about leaving. He was just gone, and not a soul knew where or why.
After one night of his absence, there had been searches sent out for him about Mossflower. They searched everywhere in a ten kilometer radius, which was a lot of area. There was nothing, and the horde was about to give up and choose a new leader, until six days later.
A small group of trackers found him, sitting next to a tree, staring off blankly into space. It was reported that he had no external injuries, but he sure acted strange. He was silent the whole time, and when asked where he was, he did not respond. He was reported to have a far away look in his eyes, as if he were mentally gone. He did not even resist when the trackers led him back to camp.
Scarback, who had taken up temporary leadership, tried to speak to him alone. When he did, he noticed a number of things. First off, Swartt's physical appearance was abnormal. All his dyes had faded, and his teeth were the normal shade of creme rather than red. The necklace that he once wore, with the claws of his enemies, was mysteriously gone. He looked strangely thin as well, as if he hadn't eaten much since he'd been gone.
The actions of the warlord were also very disturbing. When he sat, he posture was slumped over, signifying carelessness or lack of self respect. He would never look at Scarback either, he would just stare straight ahead of him, as if no one was there inside his head.
"Where were you?" Scarback would ask repeatedly, but he never received an answer from the ferret. He would just gaze ahead of him with that strange look that the weasel had come to fear.
When he offered the ferret food, he would decline, but not with any type of communication, he just wouldn't eat.
Scarback then summoned Swartt's wife, Bluefen, and perhaps he would show some type of recognition. When she came in, she was devastated to see her husband in this state. The warlord did not react to her devastation, but only stared off in that numb way of his.
Scarback was about to give up after everyone left, and he asked Swartt something out of pure exasperation.
"What in hell's teeth has happened to you?"
Swartt finally made eye contact with him, staring hard into Scarback's eyes, and said, "Everything falls apart," so softly that Scarback could barely make out what he'd said.
Scarback was shocked and delighted to hear him speak, hoping to find out what happened to him. "What do you mean?" Scarback inquired gently, trying to get the warlord to speak more and reveal what was going on.
Swartt merely shook his head and turned away from him, saying nothing more, and no matter how hard Scarback tried to get him to speak again, he remained silent.
Swartt was led to a small tent, heavily guarded, in which he would remain for the rest of the night.
So here was Scarback, alone, brooding upon the subject of Swartt's massive change. What sort of thing could have turned him from a powerful warlord to a silent, broken, pitiful creature? Scarback racked his mind, trying to think of how to get this ferret to speak about what had happened to him.
He turned his head face down in the blanket, breathing deeply, wishing that things could just go back to normal. It was too strange, Swartt wasn't meant to be seen like this, it just wasn't right.
He was lulled by the soft pitter-patter of the rain against the canvas of the tent and the occasional thunder roll. The weather always seems to fit the mood, doesn't it?
After hours of thinking, sleep finally came, and it was welcomed with open arms. Even sleep, however, could not get his mind off of the warlord and the possibilities as to what happened to him.
It was so haunting that his thoughts were not enough, and his dreams were plagued by this happening.
Well, that's all, folks. For now. I hope I will post a new chapter soon. Hope you like my first story so far!
Broken
Chapter One- Whatever You Became
Notice- This is my first Redwall fanfic, so flame me if you really feel like it, but don't expect me to stop writing! Now that that is cleared up, here's some things you can be aware of. I will never use Swartt's point of view in this story. You'll find out soon enough why. Okay then, to the story!
Extracts From the Writing of Captain Scarback
I cannot say what happened to him, but whatever did this to him, I am deathly afraid of. Something is different about him, something's changed deep inside his soul, a soul that I began to question existed. Now I see through this mist he has shrouded himself with all of these seasons, and I see something that was never meant to show. Insanity? Melancholy? What is it that made him this way?
It's something that transformed fear to pity. I pity him, him, Swartt Sixclaw! How is this? When he once pitied me? What have you become, lord, that I feel sorry for you? What has done this to you? Why is it like this? I hate it!
It's a strange thing to see him in this state of...well, there is no word I can use to describe what he is now. He has an extremely frail aura, and I can never understand.
I will never understand.
Whatever you became.
Scarback put down the quill and stared off into the canvas of the tent, the rosy light of the candles dancing against it. He was alone, listening to the silence of a enigmatic night. Some would call it silence, but there was never a point in which there was an absence of sound. Scarback did not know the sound of silence, and sometimes he wished he had. It would be such a spectacular event to hear nothing, whether it be the words of others, the screams of fallen enemies, or the thud of his heart. Sometimes things would just be better silent.
The weasel assassin leaned his head against the scratchy, wet blanket who's task was to keep him warm, a task never before accomplished. He laid flat with his belly against the small blanket, feeling the wet earth soaking through it, indifferent to his environment.
Something was going on, whether it be sinister or just plain strange, that broke the warlord Swartt Sixclaw, once known as the Pitiless One.
Scarback remembered the day he'd left. He'd spoken with Scarback once before he had left, and that was about setting up camp. Scarback thought it peculiar that they had set up camp after such a short walking distance, and so early. Strangely, it was around noon. Normally, they would be forced to march until sunset.
Afterwards, there were no accounts as of where he'd gone. No one saw him leave, no one heard him say anything about leaving. He was just gone, and not a soul knew where or why.
After one night of his absence, there had been searches sent out for him about Mossflower. They searched everywhere in a ten kilometer radius, which was a lot of area. There was nothing, and the horde was about to give up and choose a new leader, until six days later.
A small group of trackers found him, sitting next to a tree, staring off blankly into space. It was reported that he had no external injuries, but he sure acted strange. He was silent the whole time, and when asked where he was, he did not respond. He was reported to have a far away look in his eyes, as if he were mentally gone. He did not even resist when the trackers led him back to camp.
Scarback, who had taken up temporary leadership, tried to speak to him alone. When he did, he noticed a number of things. First off, Swartt's physical appearance was abnormal. All his dyes had faded, and his teeth were the normal shade of creme rather than red. The necklace that he once wore, with the claws of his enemies, was mysteriously gone. He looked strangely thin as well, as if he hadn't eaten much since he'd been gone.
The actions of the warlord were also very disturbing. When he sat, he posture was slumped over, signifying carelessness or lack of self respect. He would never look at Scarback either, he would just stare straight ahead of him, as if no one was there inside his head.
"Where were you?" Scarback would ask repeatedly, but he never received an answer from the ferret. He would just gaze ahead of him with that strange look that the weasel had come to fear.
When he offered the ferret food, he would decline, but not with any type of communication, he just wouldn't eat.
Scarback then summoned Swartt's wife, Bluefen, and perhaps he would show some type of recognition. When she came in, she was devastated to see her husband in this state. The warlord did not react to her devastation, but only stared off in that numb way of his.
Scarback was about to give up after everyone left, and he asked Swartt something out of pure exasperation.
"What in hell's teeth has happened to you?"
Swartt finally made eye contact with him, staring hard into Scarback's eyes, and said, "Everything falls apart," so softly that Scarback could barely make out what he'd said.
Scarback was shocked and delighted to hear him speak, hoping to find out what happened to him. "What do you mean?" Scarback inquired gently, trying to get the warlord to speak more and reveal what was going on.
Swartt merely shook his head and turned away from him, saying nothing more, and no matter how hard Scarback tried to get him to speak again, he remained silent.
Swartt was led to a small tent, heavily guarded, in which he would remain for the rest of the night.
So here was Scarback, alone, brooding upon the subject of Swartt's massive change. What sort of thing could have turned him from a powerful warlord to a silent, broken, pitiful creature? Scarback racked his mind, trying to think of how to get this ferret to speak about what had happened to him.
He turned his head face down in the blanket, breathing deeply, wishing that things could just go back to normal. It was too strange, Swartt wasn't meant to be seen like this, it just wasn't right.
He was lulled by the soft pitter-patter of the rain against the canvas of the tent and the occasional thunder roll. The weather always seems to fit the mood, doesn't it?
After hours of thinking, sleep finally came, and it was welcomed with open arms. Even sleep, however, could not get his mind off of the warlord and the possibilities as to what happened to him.
It was so haunting that his thoughts were not enough, and his dreams were plagued by this happening.
Well, that's all, folks. For now. I hope I will post a new chapter soon. Hope you like my first story so far!