Send your vermin tales of those who like the bottle too much, and what happened to them here.

This luverly tale was sent in by Snitter Longpaw.

Only four vermin remained awake in the cellars of Redwall, the rest of the horde was asleep on the floor, or in empty barrels, or- well, in fact, they were all over the place. Carpear, the rat, lifted a large mug and proceeded to guzzle its contents. "Aye, this be the life, mates." He said in a slurred tone as he wiped his lips with a dirty sleeve. Flattail, the weasel, lounged against a barrel. "Y'got that right. This abbey-thingy is the perfect place to kick back." Blackeye, another rat, and Ribnose, a stoat were leaning over a barrel, slurping at the October Ale. Carpear sat up suddenly. "Hey mateys, I got's an idear." The others listened intently as the rat told them his plan. "See, arfter those wimpy Redwallers surrendered, I saw Lady Jazana sendin' some o' her cronies down ter get the best wine 'n' ale an' bring it up ter th' room she was usin’. So I figger that this lot we've got down 'ere is only th' worst stuff an'th' best is upstairs, so why don'ts we go an' get it?" The other three quickly agreed and they snuck up the cellar steps as quietly as tipsy vermin can, and peeked around the doorway to the infirmary where the Polecat-ferret had set up headquarters. Sure enough, Jazana the terrible was asleep, so they quickly began loading up with as many kegs as they could carry. As they began making their way back towards the cellar, a curious thing happened. Carpear was leading and he tripped over the top step, tumbling headfirst into a mass of sleeping creatures. The other three immediately followed. One by one, the sleepers began to awaken and the vermin heard strange noises. Flattail began to suspect that perhaps they were not in the cellar after all, but maybe in the cavern hole where they had imprisoned the Redwallers. He quickly shook the thought away. "Well, well, what have we here?" A tall, lithe form rose up in the dark. The vermin trembled. "Hmm, looks like three vermin scum." A murmur went through the crowd as they gathered around. "Why don't we tell 'em what we do to drunken vermin scum who wake us up at night?" Said the tall otter. The four plastered vermin looked at each other in panic then screamed. They forgot the kegs of ale and raced up the steps, making for the cellar as fast as their paws could carry them. "I tell yer fellas," Panted Flattail once they felt they were safe ( and had picked themselves up from the fall down the cellar steps) "I ain't never gonna drink ale agin’ in me 'ole life!" "You said it, matey!" Gasped Carpear, "Now, where did I see that cask o' blackberry wine....."

~Snitter Longpaw~

Aurora Goldtail ****

This story is set in the dining hall of Gabool the Wild

"Too Much Grog" Scrandel chuckled to his friends as the new mousemaid servant brushed past. "Ah mates, jist lookie at the likes o’ that flow’r," he joked. He took another swig of grog and wiped the froth of his ugly scarred face. He laughed drunkenly. "I don’t wanna think ‘bout what ole Gabool treat ‘er like." He winked cheekily to his companions and they all laughed uproariously. Mariel heard the last comment and gritted her teeth with rage, thinking of the harsh treatment the Lord of Terramort Isle gives her. Scrandel finished his flagon, licking the foam from the rim, wiping his mouth on his greasy sleeve. "Come ‘ere, loverly flow’r," the rat flapped his arms in Mariel’s direction, beckoning for her to come. She approached cautiously. "Fill ‘er up, will ye? Do it fer me, eh?" he winked. Frink watched the mousemaid out of the corner of his eye. He knew of her background, her past. In fact, the stoat had a bit of a soft spot for Mariel. The lone corsair quietly observed Scrandel’s loud mannerisms, noting that this may be the last night the rat would live. He partly drew his dagger, testing the sharpness of the blade. Scrandel, for all his drunkenness, followed the direction of Frink’s hand. The rat stood up unsteadily. "Oi you!" he belched, reaching for his rapier. "What’s yer hand reachin’ fer?" Frink smiled at the fuzzy headed rat. "Aye, an invertation fer somethin’ fer ye." "Would ye likes to give it to me?" slurred Scrandel. "Aren’t ye a bit tipsy?" asked the stoat." Nay, just a tipsy bit dizzy!" the rat laughed loudly, nudging another corsair. Frink fully unsheathed his dagger. "Don’t ye think ye’ve had a tipsy bit too much grog, Scrandel?" Scrandel slashed lamely at the air with his rapier. He steadied, charging at Frink with a madness in his eyes. Frink side-stepped easily, then met the rapier with his own blade. Scrandel threw curses in his slurred speech, slicing the air blindly. Frink ducked, side-stepped, or dodged, finding the blade missing him by a mile. Sometimes Scrandel would steady and stab towards the stoat, only to be met by Frink’s dagger, which would send him staggering back. Frink would find little scratches or grazes on his fur, but he’d gash back at the loaded rat. Scrandel’s friends cheered him on. "Come on mate, have a slash at ‘im!" "Eh Scrandy, pick yerself up an’ finish ‘im off!" "Get the stoat at the throat!" "Steady mate, don’t wanna trip over inna fight, eh?" Confidence gained, Scrandel smirked and lunged towards Frink. The stoat, seeing the sudden attack coming, side-stepped and caught the rat in the chest. Blood oozed though Scrandel’s greasy shirt, stains spreading fast. Scrandel panted heavily for air, his breath reeking of grog. Spluttered a scream, he thrust his blade to Frink. The stoat dodged, but only too slow, for a deep cut had opened through his fur. Wincing with pain, Frink didn’t wait for a futile attack from Scrandel. He quickly drew a small knife from his pocket, throwing it at Scrandel. It landed neatly at the rat’s throat. Scrandel gurgled one last time and fell to the floor, eyes glazed over – dead. Frink turned to Scrandel’s companions that he had when he was alive, and raised an eyebrow." The stoat kills at the throat." And with that he stepped over Scrandel’s body, extracting the blade and wiping off the blood on the dead rat’s greasy clothes. He stood up and looked over his shoulder, winking at Mariel.