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12:57, 28th March 2024 (GMT+0)

Mercian Tales.

Posted by DM RyanFor group 0
DM Ryan
GM, 113 posts
Sun 10 Aug 2014
at 16:27
  • msg #1

Mercian Tales

Collateral
by Ryan Persha

Part 1

"Please sir, can you spare a coin?" Clearly needing to be somewhere else, the man keeps walking, pretending he never even heard him. This has been the boy's entire life.

The boy leans his back against a granite wall, and people pass by in front of him as they perform their daily routines. They become a blur after a while, the hustle and bustle of life. In the past, he used to study them; the life of an orphan can be quite boring, but no one ever mentions that. He'd watch one woman walk to the river each day, for she'd always take the same road out of the city, the winding street between Horsefale and Gilder. She was one of many faces he'd see everyday, becoming familiar to him; they were like a family who'd never know he existed. He'd spend hours like this, pretending he knew what their lives were like, what they did for a living, and what kind of person they were. There were a few people who always dropped him a coin on their way to work, often the same people each day. One he knew was a mason since he'd always be covered in brick dust on his walk home in the evening. The boy always managed to exert an effort to smile at these people, even if he didn't feel like smiling. At the very least, their generosity kept him from stealing.

A sea breeze constantly washes over the city, a permanent scent of salt and ocean air. If it wasn't for that, this place would probably smell something awful, being one of the largest cities around. This place is called Herrod; built on the coast of an island (notably, a very large island - it'd take you weeks to take a horse to the other side), people say it shines like a jewel when you look at it from on the sea. That's how it got its nickname, 'The Jewel of Herrod.'  The city is special in other ways though, partly because it seems to have everything. The shops are filled will all sorts of trinkets from far away lands, since ships come and go from almost everywhere. And like the stuff, the people are just as varied; if you looked hard enough, you could find anyone from anywhere. However, the people that actually are born here, who live beneath the large castle on the cliffs, they're of two kinds: the nobles, and everyone else. The castle is where the lords, ladies, and so-called important people do apparently important things. They must be important since they don't have to worry about starving.

Getting on his feet, the boy walks through a narrow passage between two buildings to another road. He wasn't having much luck today. He walks into the Bazaar which is likely the most interesting part of the city. Built right along the docks, the entire area is just one large mass of shops. Shops mean customers, and customers have spare money; this is the logic the boy comes to. The boy sits down on a comfortable corner. It's probably not the best spot for begging he recognizes, being further from the main road than he would like, but from here he can get a clear view of the castle across the bay, something to watch as the hours pass by.

A couple coins are tossed near his feet, nothing special. After awhile though, another kid walks up to the boy with a big smile on his face, maybe one or two years older, wearing a unique grin that only this kid seemed able to do. The boy smiles back, but not just out of politeness or anything – they know each other.

"Hey mate," the kid says quite happily to the boy.

He simply responds, "Oh hey Kevin." The boy doesn't mind having company, but he's not entirely thrilled to see Kevin either. Lately, the boy's been trying to avoid that group of kids. They're not bad or evil or anything; they're just orphans like himself. But recently they've been working instead of begging, and that's dangerous stuff.  Beggars, poor people, and orphans can always make money being tattle-tales, eyes and ears for important people. They also run errands that no decent folk would run.

Kevin seems to be in a good mood though, "Watch'ya doin?"

"Just watching my future house," the boy says with a smile as he nods at the castle.

"Is it behind mine?" he replies with a joking tone. The boy always liked this kind of banter with Kevin. They often did it at the orphanage together before they went to sleep when they were younger. When the grown-ups would turn off all the lights, the two would sneak out back into a small courtyard where kids would play during the day. From there they'd watch the city lights and make jokes about the adults.

Kevin sits down next to the boy and continues to say, "Ya know I saw this real ugly pirate today. He lost one of his arms, so he only had a stump!' he laughs a bit. "Saw an elf too, they're a lot prettier than ol' humans I think."

"Even if they lost an' arm?" The boy responds.

His eyes look up a second having to think, but then he says, "Yep, definitely!" The two giggle at that. The boy especially liked these jokes since they distracted him from everything else, like starving. They grew silent and watched the castle for a bit, which towers over the entire city. A large bay of water sits between them and the castle; further inland is a river that leads to the rest of the isle. Ships sail over the castle's reflection in the water.

The boy turns to Kevin, "Do you think we'll ever actually live in a castle? Well, maybe not a castle. But like a castle?" He meant to speak it like a joke, but it didn't come out quite like that. There was a twinge of sadness to it – something he tried to bury, but failed.

Kevin leans back on the wall, his eyes still watching the ships slowly move from one peripheral to the other. The light dims as dusk nears. He doesn't respond for at least half a minute; the boy nearly forgets about the question when Kevin replies out of the blue, "No...I don't think we will."

The city looks beautiful tonight.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:29, Sun 10 Aug 2014.
DM Ryan
GM, 115 posts
Mon 11 Aug 2014
at 13:45
  • msg #2

Re: Mercian Tales

Collateral
by Ryan Persha

Part 2

"Ok, I'll do one."

Kevin replies, "It's not hard or anything, usually just talking to someone or carryin' a letter. You just gotta not be stupid."

"Then how are you still here?" says the boy with a sly grin.

Kevin grins a his signature smile back and hit the boy in the arm, "C'mon mate, don't wanna keep the lady waitin."

The boy rubs his arm and runs after Kevin. The two kids take the alleys, avoiding most contact with the crowds. There are lots of alleys in Herrod that people don't know about, because most folks simply can't use them. Cracks between many of the buildings are so small, only a child could get through them. It's practically a requirement that orphans in Herrod are familiar with these alleys, since they tend to be safe places where adults can't follow. The boy had to use them a few times as escape routes. Once a noble's bodyguard chased him; apparently the noble thought the boy had stolen a ring of his (which he probably just left at home or dropped). When the boy ducked in one of these, the fat guard nearly got stuck trying to follow him.

They reached the end of the alley and crossed the street to a wider passage on the otherside. In this place, a couple of adults stand in a circle, talking. They're dressed in normal clothes, but the boy catches a glint of a chain armor underneath. No doubt they have a weapon concealed somewhere as well. The group of adults glance at Kevin and the boy; they nod before returning to their conversation. Clearly they know Kevin's face.

The two kids squeeze past the adults, keeping as much distance as they politely can. They walk into the shaodw of the building, and at the very back, they come to a door; Kevin just goes right up to it and knocks; he's apparently done this a number of times. A slothole opens up near the top and a pair of eyes looks down on them. Standing behind Kevin, the boy isn't the slightest bit afraid of all this. He's been around worse folk.

Light creeps out from the door as it opens and Kevin, holding the boy's arm, brings him through. Inside is a man standing next to the door, looking rather bored, and a woman with short brown hair tied up in a tight bun. She sits at a small table against the opposite wall, reading something intently.

Rielle puts the letter down and examines the two kids. She looks at Kevin and nods, then at the boy. Smiling wide, she says in a friendly voice, "Hello there."

The boy replies with a natural confidence, "Hello ma'am." Half-way through, his confidence shakes a little as her eyes meet his. They pierce him like a spear.

Chuckling a bit, she continues, "I like you. So, you want to make 10 silver pieces?"

"Yes, ma'am," the boy replies without trying to sound too eager, knowing to be mindful of his words.

"Tell me," she says, "What did the guys out front look like?"

He stops and thinks a moment, then responds, "One wore a green shirt, chain underneath. He had a mole on his left check and a scar just under his ear. Brown hair, round nose, ugly, an-."

"That's fine," she interrupts. "Now, I want you to be just that observant for me someplace, think you can do that?"

"Yes ma'am," the boy says simply.

"Good, now I want you to go to the Boar's Tusk. Talk to the innkeeper and say 'R sent you'. He'll take care of you while you're there, probably make you a bus boy or something. I want you to work there a few days, keep an eye out and tell me anything interesting you see," she starts to go back to reading her letter, then turns back to the boy for a final word, "You know where to go?"

"Yes ma'am," the boy replies for a third time.

"Good. Now go on. The innkeeper will give you food and a spot to sleep while you're there, and when you get back you'll have a little money in your pocket." Rielle gives a gentle smile, seeming to remind herself that she's speaking to children, and returns to reading, indicating she's finished with them.

"Thank you ma'am," the boy says straight away. At that, Kevin and him run back out the door.

The boy contemplates all the safe routes to the Boar's Tusk, that's a dangerous neighborhood if you don't them. Kevin speaks, "Good job. Ya know, the lady's real nice once you do some more stuff for her. I haven't had to beg for food in weeks! I gotta go now; gotta run to the other side o' town an' all that. Goodluck mate!" At that, Kevin takes off through one of the alleys, leaving the boy to himself.

Alone, the boy starts walking toward the Boar's tusk. He's never upset about being alone, for that's something he's had to deal with his whole life. It's the trouble the comes with being alone that bothers him; people think you're an easy target when you don't have friends. All his life he's had to dodge trouble, but this time he may have gone searching for it, getting caught up in this kind of work. But still, 10 silver would be more than any kid could beg for in months.

Feeling more determined, the boy runs off to do his quest. Who knows... perhaps this is the start of something new!
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:45, Mon 11 Aug 2014.
DM Ryan
GM, 117 posts
Thu 14 Aug 2014
at 12:15
  • msg #3

Re: Mercian Tales

Collateral
by Ryan Persha

Part 3

The innkeeper places three mugs of something strong on the boy's tray. He'd acquired a decent measure of  balance the past couple days, learning to dodge drunk and unpredictable patrons (because if anything dropped, it'd be his fault – no matter what). Tonight was especially busy though; people could barely move through the tavern, and it took ten minutes just to reach the other side.

The Boar's Tusk wasn't necessarily the cleanest tavern either. Located in the heart of the slums, the business reflected its customers: filthy and probably killed someone in the past month. The boy often wondered how anyone survived the food which (to make things worse) smelled the same as the people. The walls we're ancient. Apparently this tavern was build many decades ago, and has passed between several business owners. The latest innkeeper said he won the deed to it on a bet. The boy was smart enough not to ask what they were gambling on.

The boy ducks beneath the flailing arms of a patron with impressive grace, the drinks still balanced on his tray. Finally he reaches his intended table and places them discretely between the patrons in their chairs. Replacing empty cups with a full one, the table of men don't even take notice of him, except for one. A man with short black hair smiles and ruffles the boy's hair with his hand, "Thanks lad." Normally the boy would have dodged when someone reached out toward him (it's a dangerous place), but the guy seemed alright. The boy's good judgment pays off as he's handed a small silver coin as tip. There's a few scratches on it, but it's still good. Slight smile on his face, the boy darts back toward the bar – back to business.

Like Rielle told him to, he's been watching everything intently and keeping an ear on people's conversations. He's already accumulated a number of interesting rumors on nobles she might find interesting. But lately they've been talking about Kelden Delcor. One band of people that regularly come to the inn seem fervently on his side, talking about political intrigue (whatever that means) and the future. They liked talking about the future.

Climbing behind the bar, the boy washes his hands in a tub of water. "Crowded tonight," says the innkeeper, catching his breath near the boy. "When you've washed, go pick up the dishes at that table over there, by the firepit." The boy nods, letting the innkeeper know he heard.

Another voice calls the attention of the innkeeper, "More ale here!" Some guy with blonde hair and a light beard waves the innkeeper over; his Karbariyan accent cuts through the noisy tavern. The innkeeper goes back to duties while the boy leaves the safety of the counter once more. Grabbing a bin from the kitchen, he dives back into the crowd. Oddly, this job seems well suited for a small boy of his size, cause only someone this small could dance through the legs of a hundred drunk people.

Quickly cleaning off the table, he rests for a moment while it's still unoccupied. The boy finally realizes the minstrels are playing Irene's Fall in the background, a tune he used to hear the sailors sing by the docks. Almost at the end. Shame since he's knows all the words; he could've sang along. The last line rings through the tavern – this song always gave him chills – and he takes that as a sign to get back to work before the innkeeper sees him. He grabs his bin of empty dishes; some leftover ale washes around the bottom of it, which the boy finds rather gross, and he heads toward the kitchen.

Suddenly the boy hears a vicious crack which echoes through the tavern with an immediate effect upon the crowd. It's not the kind of crack you'd hear from metal or wood, but only the sound that bone can make. A splash of blood lands near the boy's feet, and his body freezes up; instinctively, he looks toward the sound. He sees the body of a patron collapse off his chair to the floor; nearly headless, bits of flesh smear across the ground in a horrific display of violence. A man with a mace stands over him. The boy is stunned; he's never seen anyone die before. The death is quickly followed by shouting as the deadman's companions jump up from their table and draw arms. Another group of people draw weapons in response, which seems to have a ripple effect across the whole tavern. Nearly everyone who has a weapon unsheathes it. There's no hesitation as the groups proceed to kill each other.

The boy drops his bin of dishes to the floor, some of which shatter on the ground, and he bolts for the door, knowing enough to run from these kinds of things. People are fighting all around him. An axe flies dangerously near his head as two half-orcs fight to the death. They seem utterly focused on killing each other while the boy runs behind their legs, leaving the sound of sheared flesh behind him. He dodges another pit of fighting, at least eight people involved, as he sprints toward the door.  Sweat stings the boy's eyes, but he doesn't have time to wipe it away, much less think. A nearby man swings his sword, missing his opponent and clumsily follows through behind him. It catches the boy's neck... The blade slits his throat; the man probably didn't see it happen nor even feel the blade. The boy falls on his back, clutching his neck as warm blood pours down his chest, still trying to grasp what's happened. There was pain for a few moments, but then it went away. And the world got quiet. The boy couldn't help but think dying was a lot easier than he expected. It wasn't until his vision had nearly gone dark that he saw it: a castle of his own. The flow of blood from his neck slowed to a trickle. He died.

The innkeeper found the boy as he ran toward the front door. Carrying the body, he forcefully pushed his way out of the tavern, looking back only once to see his bar go up in flames. A fallen torch was all it took. That and one dead man to destroy his business. Breathing the night air, the innkeeper set the boy down on his back. He wasn't entirely sure why he burdened himself with it; the child wasn't his responsibility. Despite this, he cried. He was surprised at himself, not expecting this kind of breakdown.

A waitress who had escaped, standing outside the tavern, recognized the innkeeper and walked over, presuming the worst, "I...I'm sorry about your loss sir." She spoke with as much empathy as she could for her old employer; he was always kind to his workers.

He responded, "I didn't know him." The innkeeper continues, almost bewildered at the dark humor of it all, "In fact... I didn't even know his name."


End

This message was last edited by the GM at 13:20, Thu 14 Aug 2014.
DM Ryan
GM, 140 posts
Thu 11 Sep 2014
at 13:02
  • msg #4

Re: Mercian Tales

A Moment's Rest
by Ryan Persha


They traveled along the river during the night, letting the sound of rushing water guide their way. Stars lit the road just enough for them to see; there was nothing else for them to fear. The trees did not threaten them with monsters or bandits, nor did they echo with the haunting cries of ghosts. This was a peaceful place, and fear was forgotten.

Sidd picked up a stone from the dirt and tossed it into the river, disturbing the soundless calm. He could only delight in stillness for so long before he felt compelled to leave it; his mind was restless in this way. That same restlessness brought him to the road in the first place, as if he'd never had a choice. Life called unceasingly, a beckoning of some kind leading him on. If he ever stopped to think about it, he just may come to realize the whole thing was rather silly. But he'd have to stop first, and that was impossible.

He touched Brynda's shirt and nodded toward the river; they stepped off the path and crouched by the water's edge. Brynda dunked her waterskin into the current, disappearing beneath the black surface. Sidd splashed his face, desperate to stay awake. They were too tired to remember where they were going or why, but both knew they needed to be there by daybreak. Sidd fell onto his back, risking a doze to soothe his feet.

The night removed color from the world, and Brynda's blonde hair seemed white; kept short, as she likes it. Sidd could not have contrasted more, with dark brown hair, made black by the stars. Clouds moved aside and unveiled the moon, whom the evening rains had hidden from the world. More light flooded onto the river bank, but no color came with it. Yet the moon's glow lit up white skin from the river's other side. Sidd sat upright and Brynda gazed in silence. Pale as the moon itself, a woman crouched over the water across from them, drinking with her hand as a cup, naked as any forest creature. As though made of the same colorless light, its bare skin shined without flaw.

Sidd resented his capricious mind, urging him to beckon the creature over, for certainly this was no human thing. To his surprise, Brynda's voice did so first, "Fair creature, what are you?" The pale woman ceased her drinking and stared like a wary deer with not a sign of understanding. Sidd looked in unbridled curiosity, for the majestic white glow of its skin if not for the beauty elsewhere. As if instinct deemed them dangerous, the pale woman ran into the forest behind, its footsteps not making a sound upon the leaves.

Brynda searched for a path across the river to follow but found no such bridge. Cold water and uncertainty convinced their minds to turn away, and they left the river's edge, looking back in remembrance. Their feet carried them farther apart from the riverbank, and Sidd turned to look once more. More likely it was starlight upon a damp stone, but he liked to think there was a face, pale as the moon, watching them leave.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:24, Sat 20 Sept 2014.
Herr Johannes
player, 68 posts
HP: 33/33/33 AC:17
Cloak,Tunic, Shield,Armor
Sun 14 Sep 2014
at 04:27
  • msg #5

Re: Mercian Tales

Courage

by Cody Krueger

          Atop my flying steed, I surveyed the city beneath me, ablaze. To my left lay the destroyed half of the castle tower, protruding from its partially destroyed castle, resting supremely atop its high peaks, hundreds of feet up. The purple, storm-filled sky swarmed with the invading, mutilated, servants of a merciless devil. Dense smoke partially surrounded me, its heat pervading the atmosphere and my armor. My eyes scanned for our foe amidst the exposed throne room, found at the top of this great hall. I flew closer into the dense smoke.

          The smell of brimstone mixed with burnt timbers, blood, and steel once again greeted my nostrils. The sound of clashing armies far beneath me and the roar of the burning castle filled my ears. Suddenly, I spotted our enemy in the smoke, but alas he spotted me first.

          The dark armored figure waved his hand and almost effortlessly from it sprung forth a tidal wave of force. In an instant I was thrown from my steed, by this unseen force, to the edge of the remaining great hall. It felt as though I was hit by a giant. With a loud crash, I felt my right side hit the hard stone floor and as I looked up I saw my adversary's weapon raised high above me. Instinctively, I rolled quickly my armored body to the side as my nemesis brought down his jagged sword. With a deafening clang its vicious teeth bit the stone floor. My mighty brother roared as he charged headlong to my aid, distracting the black master for just a moment. I seized the opportunity, rolling beyond my enemy's reach. Suddenly, I no longer felt the hard stone floor beneath my steel shrouded stature and my heart nearly froze as I looked on the rubble hundreds of feet down. I was free falling from the man-made precipice! My stomach tightened as I felt the acceleration downward to the rubble filled courtyard and realized with a new immediacy where I was. Just as suddenly I saw a shimmering white flash before my eyes and a jerk as my body's direction was abruptly changed. A familiar scent of warm sweating horse and saddle leather pervaded my nostrils as I began to regain my bearings. I searched rapidly for a handhold and foothold as I felt myself pitch and yaw. My hands found a saddle horn and my feet a stirrup. I fought to re-wright myself in the saddle. I was comforted, if only for a moment, to realize I was once more in a familiar place atop my faithful mount.

          I expected my adversary to try to dismount me from my flying companion. Thank God, I was over the tower when he did!

          I looked on from my moving vantage point. My small cousin sprinted across the open floor positioning himself for a good shot behind a large fallen support. My brother slashed at our adversary with speed and fury. Our opponent was dodging or shrugging off the mighty blows like nothing would stop him.

          Surprisingly, even in the midst of this, I was not especially concerned. God always showed himself strong, especially in our times of greatest need. He had built our trust through time after time of faithful answer. Our years of experience were evidence to the truth: no matter how grim things looked at the moment, it would always turn out well in the end. We are created for this. This is our calling.

          Suddenly my cousin, Thybll, was ripped from behind the fallen pillar. I saw him as his small being was flung through the air, crashing to the unforgiving floor at the villain’s feet. There the black daemon began to mercilessly strike at him. I knew that Thybll's magic rings and spells could protect him for a moment, but only a moment. He was not an armored combatant, he was not prepared for this type of punishment. Flame exploded from the sword of our enemy, and with each blow it spewed forth its infernal rage. My brother shielded his eyes as it belched forth its burning wrath. Cries of agony reached my ears, and my cousin collapsed unconscious.

          My cousin's life hung in the balance. I remounted my steed whilst attempting to lead him upward in order to rush to my cousin's assistance. Without warning, a great gust cooled my sweat only to give way to a burning, the smell of acrid poison filled my nostrils. I turned to see behind me a black dragon, the servant of the vile fiend. Its great maw opened and began to spew forth a green vaporous liquid toward our 4th companion and dear friend, Ryin, who was moving to help my cousin. He leaped out of the way, acid steaming off the glance of his enchanted plate mail.

          Fear tried to grip my heart, but I acted in spite of it, pulling my angelic warhorse into an even steeper climb.

          I looked on with a pounding heart. My cousin’s blood surrounding him, my brother fighting amidst a cloud of flames. My friend now staring down an acid breathing dragon many times his size. I continued my climb for just a moment before leveling off and positioning for the descent.

          I was prepared.

          I drew my lance from the side of my equine companion and reset it once more in its familiar home, locked in the practiced grasp I learned from months of combat. All the elements of my being were in harmony as they found focus in a single point.  My stomach slightly churned as I led my steed into a near vertical hairpin turn. My eyes caught sight once more of the burning city and memories of the innocent screams flooded my ears. The wind rushed past my perspiring face, as I spurred my mount into a descending charge. I felt the force of gravity lessen as I sped forward and downward. I shouted a battle cry calling out to my ever present help in trouble, as I dove forward to end this wicked reign of terror. My muscles were filled with a holy fury. My adversary was engaged in combat with my brother and so he never turned to meet my charge. I leaned forward in the saddle, and felt a great jolt as I witnessed as in slow motion my divinely guided lance drive into my dark opponent's side. So perfect was the blow that he was thrown backward, his body and armor inseparable, now both skewered by my lance. His sword fell to the ground, now losing its vicious infernal consciousness.

          In a flash it was all changed. The black acid-breathing beast behind me froze before being blown away as ash. The armor of the beast's master fell to the ground in a hollow clang as his formless being was released from its cursed prison. It was merely an empty husk now, drained of its heinous intelligence. The city still aflame, but no longer did we hear the unearthly screams. The sky was cleansed of the flying hell spawn. Victory was ours!

-{+}-

          It all came down to this. A single roll of the dice. A single attack. In the balance, hung five years of work, five years of memories shared by friends. The wind howled outside, as my friends all looked at me in earnest, in the dimly lit room. I had to choose: charge or hold back. My decision had already been made. I knew the choice well, for I had encountered it before. My five years of experience had brought benefit after benefit from this wisdom. I knew that this was not the time to hold back. This was the time to meet my foe head on, in a fearless charge. Fear has no place when brought before the bond of warriors we share.

          The candles were flickering. The model castle cast a long shadow across the grid representing our battle field. It was my move, they were all depending on me. The blood in my veins was pumping, and my ears were oblivious to almost all else, but the sound of my heart beating. The smell of hot wax hung in the air. My palms, sweaty, were shaking from the adrenaline. My stomach had that familiar feeling, not of dread, but of excitement. The music was beckoning me on. I picked up my dice and declared my attack. It was time.

-{+}-

          This is friendship, ones you entrust with your life. This is brotherhood, the lives you protect without thought to your own. This is faith, the strength of the One I depend on more than my own. This is trust, for without risk there is no victory.

-{+}-

This is Courage.

-{+}-

About the Essay:
    This is a personal account from Sir Codithumas from the Battle for Ascalon also known as the Final Battle. It was the "Final Battle," concluding the Campaign of Obsidian, a reign of terror which saw the destruction of most of the civilized "western" world and metropolises. This in part affected substantially the number of adventurers and prevalence of magic in the known world. For more information see the Lore Thread.

    It was also the conclusion of a 5 year DnD campaign. The "Final Battle" as it has been labeled, occurred late at night in the upstairs of our cottage. The scene is well described in the Essay. The Campaign was with Ryan Persha, Cody Krueger, Carson Krueger, and Jonothan Decker.

    It was written 23 January 2014
       last edited 14 September 2014
This message was last edited by the player at 03:56, Tue 11 Nov 2014.
DM Ryan
GM, 207 posts
Thu 6 Nov 2014
at 13:40
  • msg #6

Re: Mercian Tales

Beneath the Spires
Ryan Persha


Versa set her sword on the bed. She brushed her fingers over the blade, feeling the perfectly sharp edge. She would spend hours sharpening it to perfection, grinding her whetstone to a pebble. Beautifully carved runes danced along the broad center of the blade, each flowing into the next without any line overlapping nor ending in a strange place. If one looked closer, they could see the finer details of it, meticulously chiseled to a degree that no ordinary person would notice. Her armor was still on the ground; she hadn't taken the time to put it away properly.

It took her six weeks to travel back to Feldauris by horse. Her steed was nigh exhausted by the time they passed under the city gates. If she'd ever seen an expression of relief on an animal, it was then; the moment when he sat down in the stables stocked with an endless mountain of hay. The white horse's legs were brown with dirt, thrown up from the long roads. For awhile, Versa would take him to a stream every couple days and wash him, but he'd end up looking exactly the same just an hour later back on the road. She decided to let him be, and simply promised an exquisite bath when they got home.

Finally, on the second day of the sixth week, Versa saw the spires of Feldauris from across the fields. A life around the world never bothered Versa, but even she wasn't immune to that moment shared by all travelers, the sight of home after a long journey. Passing beneath the archway into the city, there were no crowds nor welcoming committee waiting for her, but that wasn't their fault; they didn't know when she'd be coming. She'd sent a letter to her father informing him of her return but couldn't say exactly when she'd arrived. Her life was unpredictable by nature; she was a warrior after all.

She stood up from the soft bed, its lush red cushions and blankets already spoiled with dirt. She was too tired last night to take a bath. Guilt crossed her mind as she thought about the maid who'd have to clean that later, but she concluded that she'd earned the respite of comfort, after all the hardships.

Versa opened the armoire and searched through elegant dresses and clothes inside. When she was a little girl, she'd have been elated at the sight of most of these. In fact, she probably was for each at some point since most were gifts, from nobles, ambassadors, and other councilmen acquainted with her father. Her father was a member of the council that wrote the legislation for Feldauris, so he often had to entertain visitors or host dinner parties, usually striving for some political goal in the end. It was the setting she grew up in.

Her fingers rested on an elegant but simple green dress with a gold trim along the sleeves and bottom. It wasn't the most extravagant one she had, but it matched her green eyes which were just a little lighter in color than the dress. Not much she could do about that. It didn't take her long to put it on; she'd done it a thousand time in her youth. Slipping off the nightgown she somehow managed to put on last night in her exhaustion, she pulled the dress over her and let it fall gracefully along her body. She lifted her long red hair out from the neck of the dress and it too naturally fell into place. It'd be proper for her to style it, traditional for noblewomen and ladies of the court, but she didn't want to take the time. She wanted to see her father.

Versa stepped into the hall and walked down the familiar stairs. Everything in this place has been the same for generations, every room and stone. Although Feldauris had a castle of its own for the royal family, her family's estate was practically a smaller version. Stone walls surrounded the entire manor, shielding the courtyard and lush gardens from the outside world. The ballroom could've been built larger than the castle's but they didn't out of deference. All the tapestries and paintings have been in the family for atleast four generations, each archaic and elaborate in their design. And after all this time, things stayed the same; it was one of the subtle reasons she left.

She opened the doors into the dining hall where servants who had been talking casually sprang into action. In a well-practiced dance, they began to arrange silverware, plates and beckon the chefs in preparation of a breakfast. But the room was empty of anyone else.

"Wait!" Versa said to a servant, expertly folding a napkin cloth into something exotic.

He bowed and responded with a simple, "Yes my lady?"

"Where is my father; I thought he'd be here."

The servant's face contorted slightly, "I'm sorry my lady, but he was called early to the council chambers. Do you wish for something to eat?"

It was a lie, but a polite one, expected from a good servant. Versa could see what had happened: her father was avoiding her. He'd never approved of her life, of leaving the family wealth and responsibilities behind, and now he dealt with it using the only mechanism he knew how. It's true he had to be vocal and forward as a council member, out-debating his opponents and defending their attacks, but when it came to his family, even when mother was alive, he could never manage to find the words when something troubling arose. Always he'd go into his study or office in the council chambers and not come out until everyone had forgotten what the issue at hand was. It was how he dealt with things most personal to him.

The servant was still waiting for a response. Versa finally replied with a sigh, "A profiterole and some fruit."

Smiling, the servant said, "With powered sugar?" He remembered her favorite dish, something she'd always get as a young girl when she felt like spoiling herself or needed cheering up.

She grew a slight smile, "Yes please."
This message was last edited by the GM at 00:03, Sun 09 Nov 2014.
DM Ryan
GM, 210 posts
Sat 8 Nov 2014
at 02:19
  • msg #7

Re: Mercian Tales

Beneath the Spires. Pt 2.
Ryan Persha

"Again."

Sword outstretched, he lunged at Versa. She deflected the blade with her own while stepping into the attack, until her face was mere inches from his. Grabbing his arm, she locked the joints, and the sword fell from his hand. "Alright, that was good!"

"Forgive me ma'am, but my arm is a tad sore from that last one." The soldier she convinced to spar with her gripped his elbow, rubbing along the tendons. He tried his best to keep a smiling face, expected in the presence of a noblewoman, but Versa could see the look of strain attempting to escape.

She replied, "Oh, sorry about that. Yes of course – you may rest."

"Thank you m'lady." He exited the small arena in search of something to drink, that wasn't water. Versa glanced upward at the sky which had grown cloudy over the course of the afternoon. The city barracks was mostly deserted; soldiers were either on duty or deliberately avoiding an embarrassing defeat by Versa, whom none could hope to beat with a sword. She meandered to the edge of the wooden training circle, reaching for a cup of water.

A familiar voice asked, "Picking on the recruits again?" Versa turned, her face blooming into a smile.

"Suunak!" she hopped over the fence. The Orc warrior returned with a charming smile, something his face naturally rested in. Suunak embraced Versa in a hug, towering over her by a foot in height. Red hair clashed in color with his green skin. He then lifted off a horned helm.

"Versa, it's been such a long time!" Despite having small tusks, Suunak possessed a very likable complexion. Such charisma did wonders for him in the Kingdom of Feldauris which was predominantly Human. He nodded toward the arena, "Poor lad. Don't shame those men too badly." He heartily laughed.

Versa glanced in search of her sparring partner, but he had seemingly vanished. "I don't intentionally," she pleaded, "But it's been some months since I've seen combat. I must stay well-practiced."

"Yes, yes – Versa the great adventurer! Hah, I can't imagine a foe you couldn't handle."

"I recall yourself being quite a challenging opponent when we were younger!"

Suunak chuckled, "Aye, that was a long time ago. You've certainly gone beyond me, having done so many heroic deeds since then. I often hear tales of you! Whereas I've been here, traveling only between Feldauris and Da'ak!" Indeed Versa had left the kingdoms while she was young, nearly fifteen years ago now. Secretly, she had some guilt about doing so, for she left for very selfish reasons then. But Versa had changed, fighting for the welfare of others nearly her entire life; perhaps some things should be forgiven.

"What have you- what happened to your eye?" Versa asked. Suunak's right eye was nearly hidden by scarred skin, though the wounds had been healed over. However, his pupil still peaked through, permitting him a small measure of sight.

Suunak felt the marred skin with his hand, "Ah yes, you weren't here for this. Happened here in Feldauris."

Versa was rather surprised, "What? I thought Feldauris was in a time of peace; I haven't heard of any recent conflicts."

"It wasn't with any of our neighbors. There was an attempted kidnapping on one of the Councilors a couple years back; Others and I rescued him, but one of the bastards got a lucky hit on me." He chuckled, "There went my good looks. Anyway, the bunch were hired thugs, and unfortunately they all died in the fight. We never did found out their employers; I suspect it was the Miner's Guild."

Sighing, Versa said, "I can't believe the Miner's Guild is still around. I still remember how corrupt they were when I was a child."

Suunak continued, "Yep, and they're still same, constantly trying to take control of politics. I've seen many laws passed rewarding them with absurd land charters and financial gain, obviously bribing or threatening the right people."

Thunder crackled lightly above, signaling the coming rain. A few droplets fell on Versa's skin. "Best we go inside. Let's get something to eat at my family's house." Suunak cheerfully nodded, fondly remembering the dinner parties at her home, something he'd not attended since she left. Together, they hastened away from the small arena, a calm drizzle of rain following in their footsteps.
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