Fires of Rebellion

[The Irish Kid]

Musha ring dum a doo dam a da,
Whack for me daddie-o
Whack for me daddie-o,
Theyres whiskey in the jar-o...

The young man on the fiddle sawed a long, heavy note as the other boy rang the last chord of the song on his guitar, sweet and strong. The note carried itself throughout the grim tavern, striking the ears of every hunched man in the room. They all tried to ignore it, for the song was from a time they only knew as young adults themselves, when there was food on every table, money in every coffer. He sang a song that only brought back memories, of the good age. The boy only knew of the good age in his farthest memories, times before the New Lord.

Every night after working, Mack and his closest friend, Erick, the fiddlist, hit Bucklies Tavern to play their tunes and have their pints. In fact, every man in the village headed to the tavern each and every evening, for there was no longer anything to look forward to in the farm town of Routhkealie, County Martam, Tammoth Duchy. Years ago, Routhkealie was like any other village in Tammoth. Jovial, united, and prosperous. Apples ripened as big as pint mugs, potatoes matured into perfect lobs the half the size of your head, corn grew higher than Big Tam, the tallest man in the village...long since dead now.

Days were long and hard, but every villager ate well and lived happy.

And then one day, a new Count was appointed by the Duke of Tammoth, a usually clear-minded man. But the new Count abused his power and set up a brutal monarchy under which the people of Martam found themselves hungry, alone and grim. Full coffers became empty under ridiculous taxes, food crops turned to cash crops, births steaded by funerals, feasts were ousted by inquisitions, the town watch replaced by army patrols.

The people of Martam pleaded to the Duke for interference, but he looked the other way, for Martam’s new martial law had turned it to the most profitable region of his Duchy.


The days before the New Lord were only faint childhood remembrances to Mack and Erick by now. As they packed away their worn instruments, one last man hesitantly left his mug and dropped a small coin onto the little pile in the middle of the table, before trudging out the creaking door and into the night chill. All he had to look forward to the next day was more work in the fields, tending crops he would never be able to feed his family with, to make more money for the Count. Mack and Erick were lucky, their appointed job was simple; work with Wallace in the forge workshop across the crude dirt street, sharpening the farm tools and making horseshoes.

Erick counted the night’s pay as he tied up his fiddle bag…12 dull copper coins…enough for three pints. Bucklie, the owner of the tavern, knew the ritual and brought over two worn glass mugs of frothy red ale, which the musicians slowly set to downing.
Bucklie took 8 of the coins for the two pints, but Mack pushed forward the other 4.
“Take them, Buck…you need it more than we do.”
Erick knew he was right. Every day Bucklie Tavern sank deeper into financial woes. Nobody in town had enough money to spare the generations-old pub, sad as it was.

The duo slammed the whining board door behind them after bidding Buck good night, and were fronted by a frosty gale.

“I’ll see you at Wallace’s, then.” Erick said with a sigh, and trudged off into the dark.

“Aye…”

Mack walked to his clumsy hut that night with dangerous thoughts. He knew the New Lord was ruining his fair County Martam. He had to be stopped, or everyone would end up starved or in the new debters prisons. Revolution. Revolt. Rebellion. Call it what you will, it must be done! But we would need an army, real fighters, real leaders.

We need a hero…

[Alpha_and_Omega]

Weary from his travels, the stranger stoped to rest inside a tavern. From the outside he could hear joyus music, as if inside a party was going on. Yet as he came nearer and entered the building, he relized it was only the music, and everyone else looked tired, weary and dirty. Asking for a pint of ale, he slowly siped it as he sat and listened to the musicians play away, apparently about better times.

Observing the people around him, the man noticed not one face was smileing. No one was here for fun or laughter, not even for the ale, which itself was not half bad. No, he thought to himself, these people are here for one reason, because they have nothing else to do, to drink away there troubles, to forget what they know.

Finishing off his ale, the stranger studied the musicians, they seemed a little happier then everyone else, but maybe thats just because you cant be to upset when your making music. Seeing them pack up, and give the bartender the extra money, the stranger droped a silver coin on the table and went to ask for a room. Looking around one last time at the bar, and noticing his silver was already gone off the table, he headed upstairs.

His room was nothing special, but it was quit nice compared to what he would have expected. With a bed, a dresser, and a little table, the only thing it was really lacking was a place for fires. That though, was ok with the stranger. Being hot already, and having to wear the hood of his cloak all the time, the last thing he wanted was a fire.

Alone in his room with his door shut and locked, the stranger pulled down his hood and remeved his dark green cloak. The inside was a deep red, and was not a worn material like the outside, but instead a material that looked soft and yet durable at the same time. Removing various rings and puches, the stranger laid down to bed, saying a few prayers to his God and muttering a few chants of meditation and protection.

[The Irish Kid]

Mack slept restlessly that night. He dreamt of flames, a burning building. He saw soldiers, and lifeless forms spread across a street. He saw villagers piling into boarded wagons and being hauled away. He couldnt recognize any of the people, they were only silhouettes...but Mack could feel their sadness and their agony.

---

Mack was jolted awake by a sloppy bugle blare from the town center. Slashes of morning sunlight dotted his pathetic room through the holes in the ceiling. Creaking open the shutters, he worked up and hocked a solid spitwad onto the dirt street below, soaking up the morning rays. While at the window, he took the liberty of observing the routine morning roll call, conducted every day by the soldiers, a stones throw away in the dust square in front of Bucklies Tavern.

Another bugle blare, a warning to all stragglers. Hoisting up his coarse leggings and pulling on his filthy tunic at once, he fastened them with his father's old leather belt, slipped on his dusty boots and crawled down the ladder into Wallaces forge, and dashed to the square outside.

Erick was already there, grinning as Mack hobbled over to the column of villagers on one leg, still fastening a boot. Everything appeared usual, except for a small huddle of commotion over by Bucklies, where Corporal Fargas and another soldier were talking with what looked like a stranger the town had never seen before. Wanderers usually avoided this plot of land these days, but those who were lucky enough not to get any trouble by the army along the way were usually told to just move on. A traveler could only stay one night in a town not of his homeland. Of course, that was yet another rule of the New Lord, absolutely set on pure efficiency in his lands. It was not unheard of that unlucky travelers were often conscripted into local workforces when they were confronted by the Lord's army.

After some moments of muffled talk, the stranger was suddenly hoisted by the arms and taken inside the tavern by the soldiers. Mack made a silent prayer for the man, and a last bugle call dispersed the crowd to go about their jobs for the day. Erick and Mack walked over to Wallace's forge, across the street from Bucklies, facing it's side wall.

"What do you think of that stranger come through last night?" Erick asked.
"I think he chose the wrong duchy to walk through." Mack said solemnly, and Erick was silent.

Wallace was already heating up the forge for the day's work. He was a giant of a man, once portly too, but nobody was a gram overweight these days. He wore a rough handlebar mustache, and liked to talk with the boys while he worked around his metals. He was a good man, and gave Mack a room for a small rent upstairs when his father passed. Erick went into the courtyard out back to fetch some supplies, and Wallace was yelling something to him as he left. Mack picked up some of the dull shears and began to sharpen them on a fresh, blue whetstone.
He thought he heard a crashing and commotion across the street, inside Bucklies.

I wonder what they wanted with that man...

[Lumiana]

Someone was watching the town from a distance, just behind the timber line of a vast forest. A closer inspection revealed her as a white female wolf. Sleepily she looked as men and women passed by on the nearby dusty road, at times observing alertly her surroundings, making sure nobody could see her. Altough basking comfortably in the sun on a warm rock she was not happy. Sighting, she wished that there would have been another forest where she could have waited for her brother. This place was not safe for a wood elf druid, no matter how good at shapeshifting she was. Another reason for her unhappiness was her white fur. Of all the brown, black and grey wolves of the world, why did she have to be WHITE? Sure it was a beautiful colour, but rumors about her had spread, and already few men had come after her pelt. Though the men had already left, more was surely coming. They were merely a nuissance, but forsed her to be alert at all times. Right now she was tired from last nights chase, and just as her eyelids started to close, hiding strange green eyes, something caught her attention at town gate. This looked interesting. She couldn't quite make out what it was... something...or someone... running? Her sleepiness quickly washed away as she rushed to find a better place to see what was going on.

[Alpha_and_Omega]

Waking up from the fairly short, but good nights sleep, the stranger slowly stretched and looked around, gathering more info on his surroundings now that it was light. Putting back on his rings, pouches and his cloak, still making sure the red side was unseen, he headed down to the bar. The cool morning air that was sliping through the cracks of the building were very refreshing. Ordering another ale and the specialty of the day, he tossed down yet another silver coin. The bartender looked a little shocked, and then said, "Sir, I am afraid i can not take this. I, nor the whole town together, has enough spare change to give you your change.

About to say keep it, the stranger was interupted by a bugle call. The bar tender whent a ghastly shade of white and started running for the door. "You best leave now, this is no place for you" he shouted on the way out. Confused, the stranger was about to go out and follow, but through the cracks and the window he could see many soldiers out there, and a few were talking to the bartender, who after a few seconds, was pointing towards the tavern.

A bit worried, the stranger rushed up to his room. Anyone who would have seen him would have seen for a second two of him, one go hide in the corner, and one in the bed. By the time they realized what they had seen, the one in the corner was gone.

Waiting as the soldiers to come, the stranger willed the illusion in bed to act like it was sleeping, and to startle awake as the soldiers came in and pulled it by the arms downstairs. Following behind so he could hear, the stranger moved its mouth and answered questions at the right time to make it seem like it was animate.

Once outside, the soldiers started to question the illusion about who he was and why he was there, he answered that he was a traveler passing through, trying to leave today to be on his way. After a few moments of mumbling to themselves, the soldiers decided to let the man go, provided he leave right away. Just at that moment though, he went limp, and they carried him inside, after all, they didnt want any deaths if it wasnt by their doing.

Once inside the Tavern however, things took a turn for the worst. The illusion dissapeard, and the soldiers heard some muffled cussing, followed by " I knew i should have studied more into my illusion spell". Startled by this, the soldiers looked around for the voice. Suddenly, behind them, two chairs were flying at them and a man materialized behind them. Once manged to duck, but the other one was not so lucky. Falling to the floor, the second one triped over him and fell, and the stranger took this oppertunity to hit him, this time with a chair still in the strangers hand. Walking out of the building as casually as possible, he walked into the first building that looked suitable, just in time to hear a voice say I wander what they wanted with that man.

Startaling all around him, he said "Nothing, but now, well, thats a different story..."

[Skullbearer]

A giant of a man, shrouded in an equally giant brown cloak, strolled silently down the dirt road in great loping steps. This entire area was, frankly, depressing him. The people and the land all seemed joined together in misery, and only the soldiers... and probably the Count... were in high spirits.

Already he'd been stopped 3 times... 3 times! And not in the last few days... but the last few miles! Something about this whole town and the surrounding area just struck him at the core of his soul... something he had shut away until recently, and the emotional responses baffled, confused, and frustrated him.

So he delved further into the miasma of torment that was this land, and finally came upon the even more depressing city. The few people who went about the streets hunched or dragged their heels like children who's best friend had just moved away. The shops were selling only bare essentials and by the footprints in the dusty road, the only well trafficked place seemed to be the pub, and even that was obviously suffering from a decisive lack of funds.

His reclaimed compassion and desire to do good drove him to this place, and now that he was here it was practically screaming at him to do something about it.

"I will! I will!" A passerby practically leaped at his booming voice, staring at him with deep suspicion as he dragged himself past. "Oops... best not to talk to myself out loud..."

Determination filling him, Aronai reached up and pulled back his hood, revealing strong and somewhat handsome features. Even in their depression the few approving glances from the occassionally woman told him that even if their souls had died, the bodies of these people hadn't quite followed.

Well, where there's a body, a soul can find a home... the only thing was for someone to breath life back into their souls and stir the fires of revolution. With his aid, Aronai was sure that this little city could regain its happiness.

Of course, since Aronai's 'reawakening' he not only suffered the pangs of compassion, but the pangs of arrogance as well... better think this one through he chastised... too many guards to handle on your own!

And so Aronai sat in the middle of the road, chin in hand, and brought forth all his concentration on the matter.

[The Irish Kid]

Mack watched yet another, larger traveler show up in the village square. Nobody ever stopped here. He wouldn’t. He looked tired, and he settled into a comfortable squat in the dirt. Mack lost interest after a moment and resumed his work.

Mack and Wallace were both somewhat startled to find the first stranger talking right next to them. They had a feeling something wasn’t right, foreigners were either sent on their way or dealt with harshly, yet this man had escaped the interrogation? Wallace eyed him up, and then outstretched his hand to shake the man’s. Mack did the same, and introduced himself. He liked the mood about this fellow. But greetings were abrupt, and a gruff yelled alarm rang loose inside the tavern across the street. Mack whirled on the stranger.

“What did you do to the soldiers?” He asked in disbelief. Troops dashed in and out of buildings and shouted orders. Soldiers began searching houses and shops for the culprit. Wallace knew the transient was in trouble.

“Help...me...” The stranger uttered, not in fear, but as if asking for Wallace’s cooperation. Soldiers thumped the door two houses down. Their commands were harsh, and they blew through every room looking for the man. Mack knew time was of the essence.

“Upstairs!” Shouted Erick, who had just returned from the shed out back.

“No, they’ll look there!” Mack retorted. Soldiers were already searching the building next door. “Get under these burlap sacks!” The man hurriedly began to bury himself under the large pile, not a moment too soon, for the Sergeant of the town Guard approached the open air forge. He eyed the three men suspiciously, then walked over to Wallace, who was shaking as he stared straight ahead, avoiding looking the Sergeant in the eye.

“Where is he, fat man?” The Sergeant shoved his sharp face right up to Wallace’s. Mack burned with rage inside, for Wallace was like a father to him. In his hands he held a shovel full of hot coals he had been in the process of dumping in the forge. Should he do it? No...that would only be foolish...

Erick could see the stranger peering out calmly through a small slit in the sack pile, watching the events unfold. He lay like a stone.

Again, the Sergeant questioned Wallace, this time with more force. “YOU KNOW! You don’t want to PUSH ME, YOU DIRTY SON OF A PIG!”

All held tensely, as Wallace clenched his eyes closed and wished the Sergeant away. And then everything mushed together into one long second. The Sergeant turned as to leave, and suddenly whirled around and delivered a pulverizing crack to Wallace’s face.

Mack thought no more. He let loose a yell of rage and hurled the shovel and its load of red hot coals into the Sergeants face. The Sergeant let loose an ear-splitting scream, and clutched at his burning visage. The stranger leapt from the pile of sacks and somehow wound the screeching man up on his back on the floor, in one fluid motion. He had bought them enough time...to run. All three men, not including the unconscious Wallace, knew there was no turning back. Soldiers flooded into the forge, and all three sprinted to the short wall out in the back yard, the only barrier between the village and the few hundred meters of tallgrass to the relative safety of the wood.

Mack stopped worrying about Erick and the traveler and cleared the wall and sprinted towards the wood. He was winded before he was halfway there, and managed to glance back once or twice to see a few friendly figures following, but he couldn’t make out who had come along. He ran until he was well inside the forest, and collapsed into the brush. One by one, the other rebels arrived. First the stranger, then Erick. Mack wasn’t sure, but it sounded as if another man was dashing with them, too.

You’ve gone and done it, you dog...

[Lumiana]

(OOC: Great! Now that you are all here I don't have to bring my druid to the town yet :) )

Something strange was definetly going on in that town, for that atleast the white wolf was sure of. People were clearly unhappy, and now this... should she interfere? She watched from above as the group rushed in the forest, noticing how the solders, still far from the edge of the forest, let loose three big hounds. As she saw this, the expression on the her face could be called nothing but an evil grin. This, atleast, she could take care of.

Descending from her high observation point on a rock, she ran between the group and dogs so that neither could see her, and sat down to wait. It didn't take long for the hounds to reach her, and slide to full stop in fright and fear. As a druid she had partial control of any beast even in wolf form, and that gift she used now. Dogs hesitated, and started to back away as she stared them with her green eyes. She smiled to them, revealing every single one of her pure white teet, which finally sent the dogs back to town in full flight.

Amazed solders, who had now reached the forest's edge, watched their war dogs run away howling and tail between legs. Still they continued to push their way through the thick vegetation, slicing plants with their swords and driving animals off their nests. White wolf was a true druid by heart and will, and moment ago when dealing with the dogs she had been in nearly playful mood. Now she was dead serious.

Right, that's it! I'll go and help those other men, even if just to get these solders mad! Following their tracks, she soon found the small group sitting on the shore of a shallow river. Observing them from a distance for a while, she saw that some of them were hurt, not badly, but in need of help anyway. Before doing anything else she went back to her own camp, getting her bag and clothes.

After returning to the river she watched the men for a while longer, then retreated deeper to forest. Sighting, she relaxed and consentrated on her own body, letting herself sink in a deep trance. A sudden, brief flash of magic, and in the place where wolf had stood was now a young female wood elf. She was actually quite beautiful, having long, golden hair and big, forest green eyes. After she had dressed, she walked back to the river, a short way off from the men's camp. As there was no trees in the river bank, she could approach them in full view.

Feeling a bit nervous, she slowly walked to the men. All chatting in the camp stopped suddenly as they noticed her.
"Uh... hello. My name is Lumiana, and I'm a druid. I see that you have few injured men with you. I can heal them, if you will grant me a shelter against the coldness of approaching night."

[Alpha_and_Omega]

Apearing right next to the three men in the forge, the stranger definatly suprised them, yet was suprised at their reactions. They stared at him for a second, and then shook his hand, introducing themselves. Once they had said there names, they looked at him, and asked his name, or at least to take off his hood. He declined taking off his hood, but claimed his name was Petrus Aduro.

That was a while ago. Now he sat in camp with 3 men ( i will take it Aroni went with us, if not i will change it) and a strange druid who just showed up. Noticing the Druid was a wood elf, Petrus shook his head a little, a little gesture of disapointment. Standing up, Petrus turned to Lumiana and said "Hello Lumiana, Duid of these woods." He then turned to the entire party and said" I am Petrus Aduro, High Elf and Sorcerer of The Sundered Guard. I was sent to these lands after hearing of claims of depression and strife. Aparently they were correct. I am here to free you from this opression."

With that, Petrus pointed his hand at a bunch of twigs away from the other trees and muttered a word, and they sprang to life in a fire, nice and warm. "You all sleep now. The men will not get in. I can stop anything they can throw at me. I am well rested. The hard part will come later when we are up against more then common soldiers"

Leaning his back against a tree, he sat and looked up at the stars, wishing for the company of his fellow guard members, yet knowing that he had a long hard journey ahead.

(OOC: I decided to throw TSG in there, since as of right now i dont think it will have an effect with the story, and that a few other guard members would like to join the story, and that way this gives them a perfect way to once they decidede to. If anyone wants to come talk to Petrus while he is sitting there i will outline the "Plan" TSG has about freeing the lands)

(Also, great story so far)

[Skullbearer]

Aronai had been sitting, peacefully ignoring everyone around him, and everyone ignoring him likewise, then all of a sudden the guards started making a ruckus.

Even so it would do him no good to get involved without thinking things through, so he blocked out the sounds of rough searching and cries of protest, and continued to ponder. Then things got positively violent when someone attacked the guard's leader, and a hooded figure and three men dressed in summer clothing and thick leather aprons and gloves rushed passed him.

Normally he would have ignored that also, but the guards were chasing in full force, and aparently a big man sitting in the middle of the road was something they took notice of. So in a moment he decided that fleeing with the hooded man and the three from the smithy was preferable to being skewered by a dozen angry guards.

Aronai easily kept up with the men, and was silent even after they made camp and were joined by a pretty elven druid. The hooded man revealed himself as Petrus, a spellcaster of The Sundered Guard... a group Aronai had limited experience with.

When Petrus declared he would keep watch over them, Aronai moved with utter silence and fluidic movement up the nearest tree and went to sleep in a position which would have required a normal man to break his back to get into. As the fire died, Petrus was left on guard with only the snores of the men, the company of the druid, and Aronai's disturbingly flexible form to keep him through the night.

[The Irish Kid]

There was far too much on Mack’s mind for him to sleep. What had he done? Was it the right thing to do? All his life, he had lived in Routhkealie...never, had he ever defied the soldiers. But he felt good, deep inside, about the day’s events. He knew he had done right. It was what lay ahead that worried him.

Laying on his side by the fire, wrapped only in his arms and his work clothes, he thought. No sleep came. Frustrated, he got up and walked towards the edge of the camp, facing the village. The cold was a harsh blow as he left the fire’s heat, but he what he saw in the village was even more painful.

His dreams had come alive. In the centre of the town, Bucklies Tavern was afire. Giant flames licked at the night sky as the old wooden building slowly crumpled. Crowds of villagers surrounded the fire, looking on with intense despair and confusion. They were scaring the people into submission now; this small revolt alone was a gaping hole in the Count’s control. Why? Why the tavern? They would probably kill Wallace, maybe Bucklie. Bastards.

His heart heavy, he turned away, and trudged back to the warmth of the fire. Maneuvering in among the sleeping figures, he got as comfortable as he could in the dirt, and sleep came.


When Mack awoke, the fire was still burning. Petrus, Aronai, and Lumiana all were awake, either cooking up their breakfasts or attending to matters of their equipment. Erick still slept heavy at Mack’s feet. It was good to have him here. Friends were always good to have. And these new acquaintances of his were friendly enough. After some moments of hesitation, he got up and stretched. Kicking Erick softly, he got him up, too.

A few minutes later, all five of the companions sat around the fire, silent. Mack could wait no longer. This was the chance he needed to outline his plan. Standing up, he started to pace around the fire. Mustering all the charisma he could, he pushed his long hair out of his eyes and began.

“My friends, we have clearly reached the line of no going back. That, I think we all know. I’m glad four of you are here in exile with me.

Companions, last night, Bucklies Tavern was razed.”

These words had a stronger effect on those that knew the town than those who didn’t. Still, some seconds of silence passed before Mack continued.

“Chances are they killed Wallace, or anyone they think helped us. The actions of the soldiers and the Count are atrocious... I thought we could live in harmony with the soldiers, but apparently, we cannot. The time for a freedom fight has long since come here. The tools for such a fight have never been present until now. Those tools are us, friends.”

The group seemed to be hooked enough. Slowly, Mack continued, the tone of morning dreariness and bitterness always hanging in the back of his speech.

“We will begin with sticks and stones. We will recruit every man and woman who yearn for freedom once again, and we will train. And then our army will descend upon every city, town, village, and hamlet from the hills until all of Martam is free to prosper once again. It will be a long struggle. It will be cold and bitter and restless, but the reward is beyond penance. We will be the revolutionaries that will bring the new lord to his knees and will return the good fortune that once swathed our land.”

“I know each one of you is dedicated to a degree. My heart has been set on this, and I will not rest until this war has been waged and won. I know I have no experience in the ways of leading armies, but if nobody else wants the responsibility, I will do my best to do so.”

He felt proud. Mack was convinced he had made a positive impression on the group.

“Now... does anyone here know how to fight?” He asked, and gave them a grin.

[Alpha_and_Omega]

Checking his pouch, Petrus made a gave a startled cry as he felt an empty pouch. "You said the Tavern was razed? Hmm, that might actually help." said Petrus. "I left something back in down, something i need very much, and i would like to go get it. I will not be needing any help, i suggest you all rest here."

Striding back through the woods, with the grace and ease with somone who had been around them all their lives, Petrus made his way back into town. Switiching the inside of his cloak for the outside, and pulling down his hood, he walked proudly into town.

Walking over to the tavern, he looked around the ruble for a second, and found exatly what he was looking for. "Ahh, i am so glad it glows when it is hot, makes it so easy to find." He mumbled to himself. Then, turning around, he shouted "Guards!."

Finding a relaxed stance as he waited as guards rushed at him, he started speaking as they got closer. "Were are the men responsible for this. The duke himself has sent me to make sure this rebellion is stoped right here and right now. Now move aside and take me to the men who you have captured."

Looking confuzzed, they hesitated, yet at the same time, no one wanted to mess with a high elf. "I bet he can do things, things with that magic or whatever" Said one guard to another. "I say take him, i am not risking my life, if it turns out hes not who he says he is, we can kill him later."

Slowly walking down were they were holding the two men, Petrus entered and told the guards to wait there. Walking in and finding the two men shackled to the wall, Petrus sent a stream of fire to melt each of the cuffs off. You two, i am a friend of Mack and Erick, and you need to get out of here. Quickly, run, and spread the word a rebellion has started, and then hide.

Stepping out the front door, Petrus raised his hands at the waiting guards, and watched as all of them were ingulfed in flames. "Now"! he shouted, and signaled for the two men to run. "Get away from here, do as i told you."

Sprinting back to camp, Petrus collapsed on the ground, panting and drained. Filling them in on what happened, he looked up at them for a brief second before collapsing again, and said "Now, it is to late change our minds. Our path lays before us, and there is nothing we can do but take it."


(OOC: Great story so far, but i figured i would let you all know my "View" on magic casters, at least my character. I view my character as a strong mage, maybe not the strongest, but very well trained. This being said i have no problems have him taking out many people or doing hard things, that many would call power gameing or whatever. I do this however, because a mages strength is that he is strong. his spells are devistating and powefull, but at the same time, after using only a few, he will become weakened, as you saw as he collapsed in camp just from that short episode. Also, it will not take as much to hurt him, as his "Defence" isnt as high. So, basically, he can do very strong and powerfull things, but to balance it he tires quickly. If anyone has a problem with this, let me know and i might change how i play him for this story. )

[Lumiana]

(OOC: In this story I assume that shapechanging is not very common skill, and those who use it are sometimes feared. This skill may not be such a big deal for other characters, but it is that for Lumiana, as it actually makes her what she is. This is more like a filler post, to let you know more about my character as I'm quite new to these forums and RP-writing.)

Lumiana smiled, listening Mac's fiery speech. This man would be good at talking to solders when they needed encouraging. Nevertheless, the path ahead would be rocky and dangerous. Her smile faded away as she thought that these people could use her gifts. But how would they react? She had had her fair share of people's hatred when telling them about her ability to shapechange into a beast, and so had everyone she loved.

Looking at each of her new companions, she let her eyes lie on Mack's face a bit longer. She saw uncertainty, frustration, bitterness, hope...
Lowering her eyes, staring at their small campfire, Lumiana felt herself torn two ways. On the other hand she wanted to help, but felt how her selfprotection instinct was yelling -loudly- to her ear that she knew nothing of these people.

Despite all her conserns, her usually very positive nature didn't let her stay in this state very long. The decision was made, and she was just about to ask others for their attention when she heard Petrus shout. For a moment Lumiana forgot what she was about to say, and then Petrus was already gone. Cursing to herself, she went for a walk to collect some herbs. Everyone needed to be there, she didn't want to repeat her story too many times.

It didn't take long for her to hear that Petrus had returned. She hurried back to camp, and as the first thing she saw was the high elf on the ground, her healer side pushed back all the other thoughts. However, after learning that the man was not hurt, just very tired, she consentrated on making some mixtures which would help him regain his strength. When everyone seemed to have settled comfortably, she finally closed her eyes for a moment, and stood up.
"Uh... I need to tell you something. Hmm, not a very good start, now, was it?" Her tension easing a bit, she smiled.
"To tell you the truth, I'm not very good at controlling weather or animals, and even my healing skills are somewhat mediocre. My talents are... elsewhere. Because of this talent I, and everyone I love, have had a fair share of hatred and violence all around this land, so please forgive me my distrust. However, I think that here this skill of mine could be very useful. Right, that being said, I'm a shapeshifter, or shapechanger, or a morpher, whatever you like to call it. A person who can change her body to some beast form. Not the mind, only body. Currently I have two beast forms, a wolf which is my main form, and a horse which I use for long distance travelling. In a wolf form I have visited the town few times before, and know a perfect place to get through the wall without anyone noticing, so I could be a good spy and a message deliverer. Now I would like to hear what you think."

Breathing lightly she sat down as the others stared at her.

[The Irish Kid]

The weeks passed as the band built up strength, and summer turned to fall. A comfortable temporary camp had been established deep in the wood, where the rebellion began to organize and train. Word had spread of the revolt, and recruits began to trickle in to the camp, farm boys and laborers, elves and braves, warriors and bards. Even a few soldiers defected from some town garrisons. But all the recruits shared their oppression, and their desire to be free again. Every last one of the rebels shared a common hatred for the Count, his minions, and his rules.

The camp was basically a system of canvas tents surrounding a suitably sized open space, where the fighters trained, ate, and were indoctrinated. A palisade wall was to be erected around the camp, though at the moment it was just a ditch. The incident at the forge was almost two months ago now, and Mack estimated the group to stand at about twenty warriors.

Back in Routhkealie, a column of soldiers had arrived from a nearby garrison. Rains and muddy roads had kept them from coming earlier, but they had come to launch an assault on the rebel camp while it was still weak. The soldiers set up their tents on the fringes of town, and were preparing to launch their offensive within the week. Back at camp, primitive booby traps and other defenses were being made ready, and recruits were immediately set about training for the guerilla warfare to follow. Mack had mutually assumed command of the operation, not militaristically, that was left to the original members who knew the arts of war, but charismatically, and politically. Erick was his right hand man. The other three all were in charge of some aspect of the fight.

Soon, they would all be tested. What they had worked so hard for thus far would either be destroyed, buried and forgotten, or would triumph over the minions of oppression and free a people.

[Skullbearer]

When questioned whether or not anyone could fight, Aronai wen't back into his thinking position, and after a few failed attempts to wake him from his concentration, the people around the fire decided it was hopeless and talked amongst themselves during Petrus' absence.

Aronai considered his options... he could take command, certainly, but then he would have to take responsibility for anything that happened. Better to just let this man continue leading and to offer his services.

"Yes, I can fight quite well... err, um..." Aronai looked around him, blinking at the surprised faces. Aparently he had been thinking longer than he thought. Petrus was being woken by the druid woman, so Aronai decided to sit back for a moment. The woman then proceeded to explain about her shape shifter abilities to the group.

"Hmm... yes... well, everyone powerful tends to have something people hate or want..." Aronai cleared his throat and decided to be silent for a while.

[Fajiera Zahra]

[Great story so far! I've been keeping up, and would love to join; just waiting for an opportunity to present itself. I tend not to be the sort of person who pops out from a random tree and says: "Surprise! I've been listening all along, so I know everything. Great, thanks, now go on with your story, right?" Heh. Anyway, keep up the good work, and...I'm, er, done now.]

[The Irish Kid]

OOC: I apologize to you all for my lack of posting, I've been caught up in a lot of things, lately; I just have some time to post quick little things here and there, but these take some time, as you all know. So I'm sorry about the delay, but I should be able to write a new bit this weekend.

Feel free to take control of the events, everyone!

[Triar]

(OOC: Great post, Irish! I'd like to join also. Much like Fajiera, I like to enter the storyline during an event, not just pop out from behind a tree. But I RP with three warriors: Piotr, Steven, and William. You can learn more about them in my RP, The Hunter and The Hunted if you so wish. However, if I in the end do join this RP, and if anyone asks, I will gladly give each of the character's their basic background etc.)

[Lumiana]

Night was warm and stars were shining brightly in the early night sky as Lumiana quietly made her way through the sleeping forest. The party had agreed that it would be wise to check what was going on in the town every now and then, and she had volunteered to do the job. Pleased to be alone for a while in a night like this, she sat down, checking her equipment one last time. Taking them out from her rucksack one by one and placing them in two strange, small saddlebags she pulled out some food and water, black shirt, pants, and gloves, dark grey-brown coloured hooded cloak, a narrow-bladed long dagger and finally a long, black silk rope ending in two foldable metal hooks.

Smiling without joy, Lumiana let the smooth silk rope slide through her fingers thinking that after all, there was some profit of spending her childhood homeless in the city streets. If things hadn't turned out as they did, she probably would have become a rogue instead of a druid.
Shaking off the sad memories, she quickly changed herself to wolf form and lifted the bags, especially made to suit her needs, onto her back. Running swiftly to town, covered by the darkness, she made her way to a safe place, then changing herself back to elf form.

After dressing up, she started to sneak, like a person who was used to avoiding authority in any city, towards recently made soldier's barracks in the town square. Listening to the patrolling soldiers chatter, she found out to her surprise that most of them were not pleased the way remaining villagers had been treated. The discipline in town was hard, and taxes even harder. That Lumiana had expected, but such amount of dissatisfaction among the soldiers was a surprise.
After listening for a while more to the soldiers she found out the main reason for their unhappiness. This new Count, however good at political playground he was, didn't seem to fit very well into the boots of a military leader. Most of the solders in town were still from original town's guard, used to easy life... and beer. So, to show them some discipline, the Count had forbidden the use of alcohol from his soldiers. Not a sip of beer could be found inside the town wall.

Continuing slowly her way to the courtyard of the hastily built barracks, Lumiana caught a glimpse of another interesting conversation when sneaking past the guards at the barracks' door. Something about the Count himself perhaps coming to this town to show his power. Ignoring this, the young druid tried to find out who was in charge of the town right now.

After a long time, with some narrowly missed contacts with patrolling soldiers, she found out that current leader of the town lived in a small, separate two-storey building near the barracks. As the house was a bit off from the patrolling routes, she decided to use her climbing rope. After a succesful throw, soft "cling" from the roof told the druid that hooks were attached to something. A slight twich from the rope ensured that they would also stay there, and a strong pull that they would last her light weight. Pleased with the result, Lumiana climbed up by the narrowly open window where she could hear someone speaking. The town leader was talking to Count's messenger, and judging from their voices, and the smell, they had been gulping down something a bit stronger than water. After a while of meaningless chatter, things started to get interesting.
"Here, my dear friend, havve anotter glass. To our ffine Count! And the riht... right... riches he will give to us!"
"Yes! And to hish greater plans than rulling tis misserable little County!"
The Count's messenger suddenly looked around the room, nearly sobering. "Hush! You shouldn't be talking about that! If someone heard, we will both be dead before dawn!"
And so they changed the subject, not talking about the Count anymore. After waiting for a long time, Lumiana gave up and climbed to the roof to rest her aching arms. The roof was slippery and had some wooden boards marking that it was not completely finished yet.

The day was breaking, and she was tired. Lumiana knew that there was no time to make any more investigations. What she didn't know that she was not alone in the roof. As she reached backwards to her bags, her hand hit something warm and furry... and that something hit back with claws and fangs! Yelping with fright and sudden pain Lumiana jumped up, immediately loosing her footing on slippery roof, accidently kicking down some boards and the black cat that had come after the food in her bag. Only the rope that was still attached to the roof saved her from very long and lethal fall to the ground. Solders had heard the noise, and the young druid decided that now might be a good time to let the others hear what she had to tell. After getting down from the roof, Lumiana ran towards the town wall. Checking that nobody followed her, she quickly used her magic and, cursing her bad luck, a tired white wolf made her way back to the rebel camp.

(OOC: I thought that I would add a little twich to the plot, and if the Count has some bigger plan going on (everyone feel free to write what it is, as I have no idea yet :D ) it will be affecting a larger area and therefore there could be others who will find out about it and join the story through that way.)

Edit: I need to learn to shorten my posts a little...

[Triar]

(OOC: Hey everyone! I have spoken to The Irish Kid privately, and he told me that he has had some personal things to deal with, but, he is going to post really, really soon. His next post is going to be a real battle post, so keep your hopes up! He will post very soon!

Regards,

Triar.

P.S. I will join the RP as soon as a small timeframe opens.)

[The Irish Kid]

The Battle of the Martam Woods

All was ready. The fighters lay like spectres on the moist soil of the forest floor, nestled among the bushes and trees. Mack surveyed his makeshift army, with a feeling of pride and fear. He knew they would present a strong fight, the army had trained for weeks...but the soldiers they would be fighting had real commanders, real tactics, and real weapons, equally rusty as their cheap armor, but metal nonetheless.
Each of the freedom fighters had dedicated themselves to the cause by swearing in allegiance, sewing together their own dark green and brown battle tunic, and equipping themselves with a weapon. They ranged from whittled poles to makeshift bows, but it was the fervor in them at heart that would win the coming fights.

So here they were. The time had come to prove themselves. The counterattack had been expected, and the rebels were ready. They lay as still as stones as the column of soldiers marched up into the edge of the wood. Mack could vaguely spy the town below, in the valley, and about a hundred metres away, the troops, now spreading out into a line. They moved uneasily, and rightly so, because over the last weeks, the warriors had been constructing booby traps directly ahead of the troop’s path. As the minutes passed, the troops came closer, weapons at the ready. Poised behind a tree with his club, and Erick poised the same on his left, they counted the nervous steps of the soldiers. It was the simplest way to keep their stomachs from twisting. Glances were passed all around the hiding men and women, wishing each other well in the fight.
In minutes, the soldiers were only metres from them, still unaware. They grunted and slowly picked their way forward, about sixty or seventy in all. Mack knew the time was right.

“NOW!”

He let go of his cord, as did a score of other fighters, launching a hail of wooden pikes into the air, impaling a good ten men before they could even scream.

The calm of the wood shattered as some thirty stinky, filthy, angry rebels lurched into the air, hurling stones, lances, and arrows at the confused men. Mack burst out from behind the tree, wailing his club with reckless abandon. Almost instantly, he clocked two charging soldiers in their heads, with so much force Mack shattered his wooden weapon and they collapsed instantly, spewing blood. He felt surges of his men leaping over him as he dropped to the ground, groping around for a weapon among the falling men and clashing weapons. Yelling and screaming filled his ears, more than one man dropped on him as he rose again, sword in hand. He had to look more carefully now to swipe, his own men were all in the fray. He knew no other instinct than to stab the Count’s henchmen. To Mack, every one of those soldiers was the Count. Pure evil in armor.

By this point, a single rough line had formed among the trees, of rebels and soldiers both - fighting, biting, stabbing, slicing, kicking, punching, bleeding and dying. On both sides of the line, a few men would limp back, bleeding from wounds, while bodies piled up at the feet of the fray. Mack leapt up onto a low tree branch, where he could get a quick overview of the battle. He was ecstatic to see what he saw. The soldiers were faltering! The ambush had worked! On the left of the rebel line, soldiers were scattering and running back to the town, and on the right, at his feet, the soldiers were dashing into the brush. The soldiers in the middle, finding their flanks vanished, dropped their weapons and scurried back from whence they came.

“VICTORY IS OURS! THEY ARE IN RETREAT! WE-HAVE-WON!” Mack cheered to his men. He was met with a resounding battle cry as the rebels gave the line one last surge.

Rebels chased them for a short, but their humanity returned, and they found themselves concerned with a much more important situation; their comrades. In minutes the victory whoops turned to desperate calls for missing friends as rebels searched the fallen for familiar faces. Mack hopped down from the tree, and dropped the cheap bloodied sword. Beginning to search for his friends, Mack began to worry. “Erick! Erick, where are you?” He thought he saw Aronai and Petrus, and he knew Lumiana could handle herself. But Erick, Erick was his best friend. He knew Erick was no fighter...in fact, he almost felt guilty for more or less forcing him to join the cause. He knew Erick was dedicated, but he was weak at heart and in no way a fighting man. When his calls yielded no replies, a lump began to grow in Mack’s throat. Frantically, he began to search the dead. He had almost given up on him when he saw Erick among the wounded, grinning at him. “We bucked them hard, didn’t we? We kicked their arses...”
“You alright?” Mack asked him, for he was bloody.
“Oh, I’m fine. You know...it felt good to strike back at the Count for once. Almost all our lives we have lived under his iron fist, and today...today we kicked his arse! It felt good, you know?”

He knew. They had most surely won. Tomorrow they would take the town, now empty of competent troops, and the front would be founded. The weapons of the soldiers had been retrieved, and the rebels were now dotted with random pieces of armor they had collected, helmets, shinguards and such. The cost was worth it. Only a few men had died, even if the lack of armor ensured that almost every fighter was wounded. Mack himself had suffered a cut on his shoulder he wasn’t even aware of. As for the soldiers, half or more of their men definitely wouldn’t be fighting again. How had they done so well? Ragtag peasants against a trained army, even if they were conscripts. It must have been their zeal.

That night they celebrated. There was a great fire, and all the food scavenged from the soldier’s pouches was feasted upon – stale bread and salted pork. Erick and Mack found their friends and shared their story of the fight.

[Thornblade]

In the the dark of night, a magic portal opened several dozen feet above the ground. A smouldering figure shot from the portal.

"Damn you Dri'Zar! I will have my vengance!!" screamed the figure as he plummeted toward the hillside. His impact was hard. He began to tumble down the side of the hill, bashing into rocks. Trying to stop his roll, he reached out to grap anything he can. But his arm crashed into a rock outcropping and snapped in two places. He continued to roll until contacting with a boulder at the base. He knew his body was in bad shape, but that is not what concerned him.

"Where am I? What, what is this...."" he muttered before losing consciousness. His wounds began to heal rapidly. The cuts and scrapes began to disappear as he spoke the last word. His bones began to realign. The burns from his battle slowly began to disaapear

His sword fell from his battered hand. The four-edged blade hit the rock with a loud clang. A green glow began to emulate from the blades of the sword growing stronger and stronger illuminating the entire area. Then it started to pulse and softy hum as if calling to someone or something nearby.

(OCC: Hiya everyone. Hope my entrance was ok. I dont want to reveal any of Thornblades past yet. It will come as the story progresses =P. Just some quick notes to be aware of.

Thornblade has shoulder length thick brown hair. Its a bit zinged for now. He also has a goatee that needs to grow back. His eyes have a green halo with yellow pupils. He stands at around 6'-1" and weighs around 265 lbs (muscle).

His sword is magical and powerful and full of surprises. It has four blades that arch up and in from the handle. The blades are joined at the base than begin to thin, opening a cavity at the center thru most of the length of the sword. Near the top, the blades come together to form one tip. From the handle, at the base of the blades, four "claws" come, up and around to point at each blade{one for each blade}. At the end of the each claw is a different colored gem: Blue, Red, Clear and Black. At the base of the handle is a large green emerald with a scorpion within. NOTE: IF you pick up the sword you wil be hurt. Your hands will get brunt and if you presist, other magical methods will be used to subdue or kill you!!! Only Thornblade can weild this sword.

I know that was long and boring but needed to get that out. If you have any questions, just email me.)

[Lumiana]

(OOC: Ok, this is going to be a long post, it seems that I can't write short stories. It's long because Thornblade suggested me to write a bit about his character, and I found it hard to do it in a way that also suited Lumiana. I may have to modify it a bit after Thornblade replies me. So let's just see how this comes out, hopefully you won't be totally bored.)

In the darkness of the night, Lumiana sat erect on her sleeping berth. Only few minutes ago she had been sleeping , but now fully awake and breathing heavily she tried to figure out why the hell was every spirit in the forest shouting inside her head. From the cacophony of voises in her mind, she could comprehend only one thing; East, beyond the lake....

Quiet... I can't make out what you are saying! Damn, this isn't working... She took a deep breath.

"QUIET!"

Her senses cleared up as the shouting ceased. Lumiana opened her eyes, and found other rebels staring at her in complete silence. As she stood up onto her lightly shaking legs, she noticed Eric. She walked up to him, and asked in a rather sharp voice if he knew where Petrus or Aronai was. As he did not, she just told him to tell the two where she was going. Without another word she stormed off the camp. When at reasonable distance, she sat down and used her magic to contact the forest again.

Her mind was filled with feelings of extremely powerful spell which had teared up the natural order of things. She received fuzzy images of something, or someone, falling. It, or more likely he, felt somehow... different, nothing like she or the ancient forest spirits had ever encountered.

Continuing her way through the the forest, she suddenly saw a strange, pulsing green light under a hill. As she carefully approached it, to her amazement she found out that it came from a sword. It was a marvellous piece of work, looking both beautiful and deadly. She felt a strong temptation to pick it up, but knew better not to do so. Suddenly she noticed someone on the ground halfway up the hill. As Lumiana approached him, she saw that this human was hurt and gently placed her palms on his chest to heal him. But before she could do anything else, a bright light emerged from the sword and carefully pushed her backwards.

A figure appeared before her. It was an elf, a woman, and though not quite like any elf the young druid had ever seen, Lumiana immediately noticed that the figure was of royal decent.

"Do not be frightened friend, for I will not harm you. My name is Lady and I am the essence of the sword before you, the Emerald Scorpion" the figure spoke.

Lady pointed to a figure laying on the rocks.

"Thornblade is keeper of the Emerald Scorpion and Lord of the Ancient Houses. He needs your assistance."
"I can heal him, but it will take time," Lumiana spoke.
"It is not his body that needs assistance," Lady replied.

Lumiana looked down at Thornblade and saw that his injuries were already healing.

"Pick up the Emerald Scorpion and bring it over to his hand," Lady said.

Lumiana walked to the sword and examined it. The weapon didn't feel dangeroes, and she was nearly considering to do as the Lady asked when sudden, painful memory of similar situation happening not too long ago made her take several steps backward.

"I don't think it is a good idea" She said to Lady

Lady pointed out to Thornblade

"He needs it to recover completely. The sword will burn your hands, but will not harm you in any other way. Just remember that if you pick it up a secont time, wrap the handle in something before touching it unless you want to burn yourself again."

Still hesitating a bit, Lumiana finally took the sword to her hands. It was amazingly light for its size. All of the sudden it began to glow brighter and brighter. It was soon so bright that she had to close her eyes.

When she opened her eyes after a few seconds, she was on an open field. The whole place felt like a dream. Everything looked real, but felt hollow. She was standing near a small stone house. Peering in, she slowly entered. There were markings of battle all around the house.

As she walked further, she saw a few drops of blood leading to the rear. The trail lead to a large room and in the corner stood a dark figure. As he turned to face her, Lumiana could see the blood dripping from his black sword. To her horror, she realized what he was holding in his other hand. It was the head of the little boy. Suddenly the dark figure waved his sword at her. She felt the magical wave rip through her body. The shock send her flying through the house, and back onto the forest hill.

When she opened her eyes, she was laying on her back on the rocks. Ok, note to self; never touch those things again. What the hell just happened? Her head hurt from the fall and hands were burnt. The Lady was nowhere to be seen.

"Just typical," she muttered to herself in ironic voice.

Lumiana glanced up to Thornblade. Sighing, she thought that there was nothing else for her to do but to wait. Remembering Lady’s advise, she used gloves when placing the sword on Thornblade's hand. She made a small fire and placed her warm cloak over the man. Feeling her good mood slowly returning as her injuries healed, she leaned backwards to watch the stars. Smiling, she started to sing beautiful old elvish chants in low voice, at the same time listening when the man would wake up.