Commissioned from  FortunataFox

Markem makes his speech after another attempt on his life, forming the Great Vermin Band
From Left to right; Luzgot (Warlord of Luzland), Parb (Warlordess of Great Marsh), Hazul Lefer (Warlord of Veekun's Burrow), 'Dirt' (Markem's slave and bodyguard) Markem Brownnose (Warlord of Gholand), Sheera (Markem's Wife), Kylan (Warlord of Jusbrag), and Lefen (Former Nut Farmer, Freedom Fighter)
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There was a warning call to those trying to get to Markem’s feast and began to fling themselves upward into the area. The Long Patrol sniper had unfortunately survived, having fallen from the roof and landed on his back, shattering his muscle and bone. He groaned in agony as he was lifted up by angry guards and eager vermin wishing to prove themselves who gathered the would be assassin. Others in the camp awaited with bated breath, wondering if the sounds were good vermin fun, or if someone was dead. Even the slaves stopped their evening chores, wondering what was happening above. Many eyes were on Markem, and he knew it.

Sheera collected her children and held them close as the would-be assassin was thrown to the feet of Markem. The fox Markem had just congratulated fell in line and to his side, although was kept a safe distance in case he had second thoughts by ‘Dirt’. The other warlords stood up, ready to deal out harsh and cruel justice, just as Scarl and his posse came out of Gholand’s keep, with disarmed and battered woodlanders. They were thrown to the feet of Markem who looked down with contempt, especially at Lefen who could only look up in hate.

“Lefen. Nice to see you are well.” Markem mocked “Hows the young’uns?”

“Don’t ya dare speak of my youngsters, again, ya damn rat!” Lefen cursed, but was hit sharply by a paw of one of the vermin rabble behind him. Markem calmed down the crowd as he strode about them. Many eyes were on them. The hedgehog who had helped the group could only watch in shame from the frame of the door, as Markem paced around. He raised his voice.

“Two attempts on me life, one from an ally, the other me enemy. If I gotta say this, to ye lot, ya all make poor assassins.”

“Poor assassins, but good spies, ya bounder!” One of the captured hares replied “The Long Patrol will muster and put you an’ your whole bloody crew of villains down!”

“Hang em’ chief!”

“Spill there guts!”

“Boil em in scalden oil!” A clamor of loyal vermin made suggestions to their fate. However, Markem yelled out in anger. “Do I look to be a common murderer, ya daft fools!” There was a silence from the horde as Markem turned about him, looking into the face of his horde, his supposed allies, and obvious enemies. “Long have I held me tongue, a long enough do I gotta say to ya lot many things. All these treasures, all these manners befittin a warlord, be useless as an infant’s garbage to me! Seasons I have been taught harsh lessons an’ harder truths, an I see now this one truth. Ya are the livin dead, the lot of ya!”

“Ye act like ghouls, an’ many of ya look an’ smell like Ghouls!” He pointed at the gathered and shocked horde. “I come from a line like ya, travelin between horde to horde, servin me former masters dutifully fer kind words an’ good vittles. Well, none of that I shall give ya, for i shall give ya the truth. Most of ye are dumber than bricks, deranged cretans who murder each other fer scraps an’ promotions. I am sick of it, sick of it even now!”

He turned to his warlords, the fire of fury burned in Markem’s eyes. “To ya lot, I have many things to say in contempt. No lot of fools is more clownish an’ damned then us! How can we call ourselves leaders, warlords, an chiefs when we act like crying children playin with lands an’ schemes. Ya all hate each other, an’ ya hate yer own hordes! Ya show nothin but contempt and disdain fer something ya rule, an no wonder yer slaves always escape and yer horde is beaten time an’ time again by Hares! Ya fight each other to standstills, fer little reason, and punish yer beasts with whips an’ death! Even on simple feastin days, ya lot try to have me killed.” He turned his attention to Luzgot who tried and failed to slink back into the crowd. The crowd looked outward in disappointment and dejection, but Markem’s voice lowered and spoke like a father to his children.

“Ya may be terrible beasts, bandits an’ murderers. Slavers an’ wretches of the ol’ world. However, ya are vermin! Strong, brave, an’ damn good fighters! I see in ya horde more then what ya think ya are, I see sons an’ daughters. Mothers an’ fathers. Brother an’ sister! Ya are alive in this world, so why shouldn’t ya take it fer yourselves, aye? I see conquerors, an’ kings. Chieftains of high standing as any other in the woods! Yer fathers would be proud of what their children have become, rulin hordes an’ driven the whole forward! Yet we are lost, aimless in our power mongering, an’ I am sick an’ tired of it!” Markem whirled around and broke off his banner from the central pole, leaping onto the table he began to shout now, so all nearby could hear. Scarl began to smile.

“I say now to ya! Vermin of Mossflower, are ya tired of being brought low time an’ time again by ourselves an’ by the cursed Long Patrol?! I say this with sacred oath, by me tooth an’ claw, tail an’ heart, hear me! Mossflower be ours, my brothers, my comrades! By right of conquest, an’ the authority of this here flag, we will bring Mossflower to its knees! We will cut a swath to Salamanderstron itself an’ topple down its cursed lords! We will march to the Red Abbey and fly our banners! Let all here, rabble an’ captain! Warlord an’ servant! Slave an’ free! Join me, join us all together into one band, a great vermin band! Let me lead us all to the dawn we all deserve!”

The vermin rabble began to cheer, shouting “Markem! Great Warlord! Markem! Great Warlord!”

The other warlords were caught in the frenzy, many taking out their blades and lifting them high, others kneeling to swear their fealty. Many looked around, seeing even their own guards having joined on in with Markem. The rat looked down proud at his collection, and seeing Luzgot try to make his escape, Markem formulated a little idea. To show the changes he was going to make. “Bring me Luzgot, warlord of Luzland!”

Kylan grabbed the struggling cowering rat’s shoulder, pushing him to the front to where Markem was. ‘Dirt’ was prepared to strike Luzgot down on Markem’s orders, but it did not come. Markem instead gripped Luzgot’s shoulder harshly. “Luzgot, ya tried to have me killed, mate. Again. An’ again it failed.”

Luzgot whimpered “It was not me, the fox lies!”

“Luzgot, I know it be you.” Markem whispered but then began to speak highly so others could hear “Long have we all fought one another, long have we tried to get each other killed an’ sabotaged our own efforts! Let the band know this be me first law, no vermin shall come to harm another, an’ all crimes forgiven by me order! All they but have to do is bend knee.”

Luzgot gulped and quickly fell to his knees. He swore right on the spot, for it was either that or death. Having the rat humiliated again brought a cruel smile to Markem’s face as he turned his attention finally to the woodlander prisoners who sat in horror. They had just watched Markem unite every warlord in Mossflower’s eastern quarter under a single banner, and now looked upon the strongest rat and threat Mossflower would ever face, and they have all failed to stop him.

Markem came forward and folded his paws, the rabble behind him awaited their judgement, ready to dish it out. Markem looked down at the Hares first. “My terms of surrender are good fer the lot of ya, if ya take it. Ya surrender peacefully, or do I gotta kill ya?”

The sniper painfully looked Markem in the eyes. He was more frustrated than angry, and spat at the warlord defiantly, although his bloody spit weakly landed at Markem’s feat as well. The irony wasn’t lost to the Hare “Should have listened to my ol’ commander, wot. Been less focused on trying to steal vittles and better learned how to fire me bow. Might have even made the difference, you blighted creature.” The Hare received was knocked to the ground by a nearby hordebeast and he groaned in pain. He had to be helped up by his fellow Long Patrol. Marekm only gave a sigh.

“I knew ye folk all too well, more brave an’ honored then sense. Ya wish death?” Lefen and Streamwaddle looked at the Hares. They already knew their answer as both looked on. They knew what would happen if they didn’t, and perhaps the rat made a crucial oversight. This wasn’t overseen by Scarl who crept closer to his master and whispered into his open ears.

“Spare that one. I could squeeze the information right outta’ him boss.”

Markem nodded. “Spare this one, as yer ya.” He turned to the sniper, awaiting his answer. The other Hare was grabbed and pulled away by Niala and Jarolom at Scarl’s command, looking for a final time at his companion as the sniper sniffed and dusted himself off.

“Ya may kill me now, Markem the Bulgenose or whatever your name is. The Long Patrol will stop you, mark my words.”

“Your words are marked.” Markem quickly brought out his blade and slashed deeply into the sniper’s throat as he came over to Lefen and Streamwaddle, awaiting the same fate. Lefen and his sea otter companion knew they had lost, but Markem only gave a loud sigh. The hordebeasts and warlords watched on. They were curious what Markem was doing as he addressed them.

“When we go an’ conquer, I have seen many of ye act in cruelty to beasts like these. I use to think the same way as the lot of ya. I realize now, how useless it be. Why do we kill em’, torture em’, and starve em of all their worth? The woodlanders are apart of this world as all of ya an’ me, and I do not wish e’r deaths or their demise. I know many of ya see in me a mad beast fer sayin such things, an’ if I was younger, I’d call meself a fool. Yet look about ya, at me home an’ all of Gholand. It be hedgehog make, build by woodlander paws. I do not desire their enslavement till their end of days, but der obedience in our cause!” He looked to Lefen and then to Streamwaddle. The vermin had been less enthusiastic, thinking perhaps Markem was showing a sign of madness.

“I’m give both of ya mercy this day, but yer both stayin in me fort till ya break. Consider yaselves lucky an’ blessed I don’t send you to the stone pit.”

The sea otter gulped. He knew what the ‘stone pit’ was, a small quarry outside Gholand which was under heavy guard. Slaves and newly captured creatures who showed resistance were sent there and worked day and night, but its more hidden purpose was simple. It was an alternative to obeying Markem directly, and instead being worked to death. He had seen slaves come from the pit before, covered in whip scars and with soulless eyes accepting the vermin’s authority over them. Lefen only sneered, and shot up in anger “Ya don’t give mercy, Markem, you rat! You only offer slavery or death!”

“An ya would have don’ much differently if someone else tried to assassinate ya? Don’t lecture me, squirrel. I ain’t even given you lot a choice. Not yet at least. Take em to Gutan, an’ know I spare me enemies this day.” The two were dragged off, as Luzgot watched. A plan began to form in his head, as the vermin cheered to Markem. Maybe not today, you wretch, but maybe I’ll take a little page outta yer book. Maybe a little diplomacy will go a long way in bringin ya down!"

Scarl was jubilant as his plan worked, perhaps not exactly all this considering, but the vermin hordebeasts and warlord alike were cheering Markem. Many had sworn, and now every warlord was in a frenzy to align with Markem more. Kylan and Hazul were the first to fully swear themselves.

“Ya have the vermin of all the highlands an’ all the north to swear to ye! I, Kylan Bignose, swear the vermin Jusbrag to yer service Markem. The great vermin band, eh? A terrible name in me opinion, for soon we shall all be kings in Mossflower! Right lads! Clang yer swords to Markem! Shout for the great warlord!”

“The spirits predicted these events far in advance since we first met, Markem Brownnose. My tribe and your horde have fought, bled, and died together and I will happily join you. Let the vermin of Gholand and Veekun’s Burrow pillage an’ burn across the woods these coming days! May the seasons goad us to war!”

Luzgot swore himself beforehand, but of the last of the warlords to swear, only Parb seemed to give the worst and generic oath “I swear Great Marsh’s wealth and armies to you, great warlord of the great vermin band. May you use them well.”

Markem accepted it all, his horde was now large and terrible, he waved his brown banner to all to see, as word spread. Lefen and Streamwaddle, the would be assassins, were pelted with stones and garbage from the other vermin who heard as they were led away to the prisoner pen to await an uncertain fate. The vermin howled and broke open casks as the true, and bloody, party began. Markem descended to personally meet his horde, leading the other warlords to party amongst the common rabble as he did. Scarl was already off to torment his new prisoner as he brought Jarolom and Niala to watch, leaving only Luzgot and Parb alone in the feasting grounds, along with a gaggle of slaves who began the impossible task of cleaning.

“An interesting creature, he goads all the vermin to war. Reminds me of Kasg a bit.” Parb noted.

Luzgot turned to the mink and spat “Interestin indeed! Ya take that stupid oath seriously, ya white puff ball?”

“Not really, although he does have. . .uses.”

Luzgot was already off, he was going to drink his sorrows away for the night, maybe even try to get at the fox who betrayed him in the madness of the vermin party as they celebrated. The vermin were going to go to war, and their campaign would be all of Mossflower.