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After Redwall

Barkjon March 30, 2009 User blog:Barkjon

This is a fan fiction story by Barkjon. It is not considered canon, nor is it a policy or guideline.


The warrior mice were slowly being pushed back to the Gatehouse. The vermin were...undefeatable. How did they get in? That question haunted the minds of the Redwallers. Little did they know they were betrayed. By who? A young otter. Yes, an otter. His mind was corrupted by the thoughts of riches and freedom offered by the vermin, so he showed them a way in while the inhabitants of Redwall were stuffing their faces in a huge feast.

The remnant of the mice fighting the vermin were getting cut down. Rats charged at the five last Redwallers. It was hopeless. The huge army was defeating them. They had been surprised completely, and they were not prepared for battle. It was impossible to defeat them all...

One last mouse dashed from the scene of battle. He had survived the battle, but would it be much better on his own? The young Redwaller, named Lucas, was scared. Would he be found? He looked back. It was unbearable. The red walls of the abbey were almost impossible to see, with the many vermin and rubble in front of it. He ran on, oblivious to the noises of destruction behind him.

Lucas stopped at a bend in Mossflower River. He sat down on a rock, panting and breathless. The blood oozing from his leg slowly seeped into the cloudy river. He felt dampness on his shoulders. Either sweat...or rain. Yes, it was rain. Drops hit the surface of the river winding through the forest, making a melody of splashes. Lucas thought ahead to what would come. Would the vermin find him and kill him...or would he survive and possible become a hermit? Then there was that last option-to become a roving adventurer. It would be hard to decide, but he promised himself he would return to the ruins of Redwall and build it again.

Book 1:Of Adventurers and Ruins

Chapter 1:Back Home

Dust swirled around the dirty traveler as he climbed up the small hill. The middle-aged mouse had been traveling for over 25 seasons without returning to his home. And now he finally did. Lucas, for it was he, had finally reached Redwall Abbey! Or, at least, what remained of it. It had been destroyed ages ago in a huge battle, the vermin victorious. So Lucas the mouse left. As the wind blew around the lone mouse, memories rushed back to him. The feast before the attack...his friends dying...him leaving...his many adventures. He had many many creatures on his travels-some vermin, others allies. Some friends, some enemies. Yet he never stayed in one place for long.

Lucas's mind wandered to the places he had been to and the creatures he had met. They seemed so long ago...but he wouldn't meet anymore. Now he decided to settle down in the ruins of Redwall Abbey. Little did he know that that would all change...


Swiftshot the otter dashed from the river, water dripping from him, into his family's underwater cave. His parents and siblings looked up in surprise.

"Swiftshot? Do not burst in here so wet! DRY OFF!" yelled his father.

Swiftshot flinched. It seemed like his parents were getting meaner. Maybe it was just the threat of the vermin armies coming, maybe not.

Lots of the otters wondered why they didn't move from the oncoming threat of vermin. But this holt was their home, no matter what. The otter council came up with the idea to stay in their home and defend as well as they could...but would they last?


Makan the Dark surveyed his battle camp. The massive otter holt - even by otter standards - would soon belong to him and his vermin horde. The black fox turned around. Two of his aides were there.

"Um...uh...Lord?" stuttered one, a ferret named Wilo.

"Yes?" growled Makan.

"We have a small problem..." said the other aide, Biln the weasel.

Makan raised an eyebrow, asking, "What problem?"

"Uh...we have been ambushed by...uh...otters!" replied Wilo.

"Otters, eh? They have the nerve to do that? They will surely be defeated!" shouted Makan in his aides' faces. He strode off, his aides at his back.


A bloody battle was happening at a small ford in a river. Otter slingstones thudded into vermin skulls, and vermin hacking at otters with rusty swords. One of the otters, a tall brown one, the Skipper of Otters, raised his lance and yelled, "Otters! To me! For our holt!"

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