Rachael’s Random Encounter
After losing my short sword last night in a battle with a madman and my cousin, Falton’s only werewolf, I left early to search for it. While I did not find my sword, I did find quite a bit of sliver and a few bits of cloth, at least I could get some money for that. As I turned to head back to Falton, I pulled my breakfast, a small chocolate cake, out of my bag. I had skipped breakfast that morning wanting to get out before anyone else. The forest was so quiet and peaceful in the early morning, quite a contrast to the hectic activity that I knew would start up again within the hour.
Rebellion.
Rebellion against the Empress for whom I had worked so hard. Her Majesty might be a bit harsh and could probably use some better communication skills with her people, I grant you that, but she is not cruel, and I knew she could pull Falton through should they come. They were cruel, callous, and strong, but strong is she, also. Even when the best of us fell under a dark magic making us turn against our own, siding with a troll, she resisted and fought back. She broke the spell cast on her people and restored peace. This was the strength and leadership we needed to survive against them, the strength I needed not 5 years ago. But that is the past, this is now.
And now I must work to protect the Empress. I know I am not skilled with words. I cannot sway the hearts of men and women with great speeches, especially those already so determined, so closed-minded, so sure that rebellion is the right choice. If only I could tell them what can, and inevitably will, happen without such a strong leader, I might be able to save them. If I could succeed this time then perhaps this small victory could buy me the time I needed to finish this once and for all – to save all people – but for now, I must do my best to keep these people together, united as one, for only then shall we survive. If we are leaderless, divided, then we shall fall.
I absentmindedly bit into the cake while walking past the tree that nearly went up in flames the night before when the blissful silence was broken by something, no, someone crashing through the trees. I turned just in time to see a young boy charging at me with his weapon drawn. With the cake in one hand and my bag in the other, I had no choice but to turn and run. Tossing my bag off to the side, I shoved the rest of the cake into my mouth and drew my sword. What I would give for my short sword now! I turned to face the boy and found he had two friends – a man who was a bit taller than the boy, and a woman coming not three steps behind.
I breathed deeply trying to control my breath, which is difficult after running a ways with mouth full of food. I began backing up slowly, planing in my mind how I was going to defeat them all single-handedly. Literally. While still thinking, I noticed something bumping my leg every time I took a step. Not daring to take my eyes off my attackers, I reached down with my left hand and found a battle ax hanging off my belt, then I remembered. Arensson had lent it to me when I mentioned I was going to look for my short sword. While I don’t trust him, he has been helpful in the past and he doesn’t pester me about my history, unlike some, and I appreciate that. And now I couldn’t be more grateful to him for letting me borrow the ax.
Wasting no time, I drew the ax and it seemed the boy took that as a challenge and charged. I dodged back and to the left and gave his shoulder a small cut. I didn’t want to permanently damage the kid, I just needed to persuade him that attacking me wasn’t the best choice. He reeled back a few steps, and the taller man stepped up in his place. Well planned, I thought, and continued to circle them with large, slow steps. The man, equipped with a pole arm, took no time in attempting to stab at me. I blocked it with the ax and slashed at his side and again at his leg. With both hits finding their mark, I backed up a few steps and into the small boy who gave me a good cut to the leg. Staggering, I backed up a good bit more until I had all three of them in my line of sight. I resumed my circling and got a few more hits on the man and one more on the boy when a voice from behind me yelled,
“HEY!”
My heart sank. Who now? Rayth? I really didn’t want to be accused of fighting these three. I didn’t start it, I was only defending myself! But who would believe me? I turned to see Blackwall walking up and looking angry. I glanced at my attackers to find them all backing off with their hands up. Slightly amused, I jogged over to Blackwall. It was nice to see him in human form again. He put his arm around my shoulders and asked. “ Are these three giving you trouble?” Being quite out of breath, I only nodded in response and we walked towards the trio who, only moments before, were actively trying to murder me. “What do you think you are doin’, messing with my cousin?” he asked them. “It was his idea!” said the man and woman in unison pointing at the boy. Blackwall looked down at the boy who stuttered something of an apology. Blackwall turned back to me and asked, “Are you ok? Any major damage?” I shook my head, “I’m fine but they made me drop my breakfast,” I jokingly pouted. Blackwall laughed but the trio seemed too shaken to pick up on my sarcasm.
Seeing that all was well, Blackwall turned to the trio and began to strike up a friendly conversation with them as only Blackwall can. Telling myself to remember to thank him later, I picked my bag up and turned back towards Falton wondering if the Lonelee Rode Tavern was open yet …
The World through the Eyes of the Rogue Element
A Theif’s Tale
“And what are you doing here?”
Zee turned. Behind her stood two strangers, both men. The lanky one had addressed her; his portly companion stood nearby with hand on his sword.
“Was?” she queried in her native tongue, blue eyes studying them. For all their cleverness any attraction was lost to her, for though they were well-built and held their arms with practiced ease, by their garb she sensed they lacked wealth.
“Your accent is strange. What brings you to Falton?” the man repeated with a smile. Zee glanced at Yana with a smirk and replied,
“Vat does eet matter to you?”
“I’m curious!” he said brightly.
Zee waved vaguely toward the chance tables. She’d only left them to fetch some more money. “Zis und zat.”
“I see. Do you have a permit?”
Zee looked him over. The empress had said nothing of permits; she would have offered one if they were necessary for a simple, homey night of gambling and gathering rebel intelligence. “Do you?”
He chuckled and whipped out a piece of paper. Zee recognized it as the check the empress had written when he turned over the rebel leader; she had been there. She smirked.
“I am in ze empress’s service: eef I need somesing you vill take eet up vith her.” She nudged Yana and muttered, “He’s bluffing us.” Yana bit her pink lips to hide a smile.
The man considered this as he jovially hid the paper. “Excellent, then! Have a fine evening!” He nodded to his companion, and they strolled away. Zee felt her coin purse. Still in order. She glanced at Yana with a small nod. The half-fairy smiled and adjusted her furs.
“Where shall we go now?”
“Just a minute.” Zee followed the pair with her eyes as they sauntered over to a group of three women. Gold glinted in their embroidered laps. Zee gasped and slunk through the scant treeline to sit behind them.
“Have you a treasure-hunting permit?” The tall stranger had them quite occupied. Wunderbar! This was an easier route back to the games of chance.
Zee crept beside one of the indignant women and inched a cunning hand forward. Her fingers closed around a hundred-gold bit. Her heart leapt, and, forgetting herself, she sprang to her feet and flew away up the hillside. Cries of “Thief!” pursued her. Gasping, she pressed on, legs pumping, lungs burning in the cold air, boots slipping on the long, slick grass. She clutched the money to her chest and shot a fearful glance behind; the lanky man followed swift in her wake. Her footing betrayed her in the wet grass; with a cry she fell headlong and slid painfully down the hill.
Footsteps thundered behind her. Whimpering, she curled into the fetal position and shoved the gold into the man’s hands. “Mercy!” She tried to get up and flee, but her aching legs refused to support her. She covered her head with her arms as the man’s companion and the three women surrounded her.
They would hang her for this!
The lanky man triumphantly nudged her with his boot. “Well, we’ve caught a thief! What should we do with her?”
“Kill her!” the women shrieked.
“Shall we kill her?” he asked, looking Zee over. She stared back with wild eyes as he unhooked a set of chains from his belt.
“No, make her an example! Take her back to Falton and kill her there!”
“No!” cried Yana, running up behind. Zee had forgotten her in the flight. Yana fell at the man’s feet and offered her wrists to the imminent manacles. “Take me instead!”
“What?” the lanky man said, fingering the cuffs. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”
Zee held her breath. She knew she’d need Yana sooner or later. It seemed the time was now.
“Because she’s my friend,” Yanna said breathlessly. “Please.” Her dark eyes bored pitifully into his.
He furrowed his eyebrows. “You know…” Zee caught his eye as he slipped the gold into his pouch with a wink. “I didn’t see her steal anything, did you?”
“No,” his companion replied. The women gasped and opened their red mouths to reply, but the lanky man waved them off and helped Zee to her feet. “I’m so sorry about all that, miss.”
“Ees alright,” she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. She gave Yana a grateful look and the pair of them snuck into the safety of the forest.
Rebellion is Sweet
By Dakota the Dragonslayer
Hello, there. Dakota here. I suppose you’re all wondering if ‘the Dragonslayer’ is actually my last name. Alas, it is not, though wouldn’t that be legendary?*
I wouldn’t say dragonslaying is a hobby, more like a harebrained idea. And, you know, I had the foolish idea of trying to take a dragon’s gold. And I tripped over a dragon’s nest when I wasn’t ready. All in all a lot of fun.
I’ve been a wandering warrior for quite a while, probably since age thirteen. What happened before thirteen is none of anyone’s business except mine. But that’s another story for another day.
The point is I do not appreciate being bossed around in any way, shape, or form. It simply is not in my nature. I do, however, enjoy being loud, being obnoxious, and fighting. The perfect candidate to be a second to the rebellion leader. Unfortunately, being loud and obnoxious also results in being mistaken for the real rebellion leader. While this was amusing enough at first, before the end of the day, I had up to 9,000 gold pieces on my head. I managed to escape the authorities for a while, but eventually my time was up.
While I was out wandering, minding my own business (“For once.” As my cousin Savine would say), I was approached and asked of my intentions. When it turned out I did not have the ‘proper paperwork’ for wandering, merely a reason to stop the ‘rebel leader’ without worrying the loyalists, I was beaten and apprehended by the authorities.
They dragged me back to Falton in chains, denied me a trial, and threw me in the stocks. To starve. To suffer from thirst and cold. To be tortured with “Let It Go” and “Do you Want to Build a Snowman?” It was a wretched experience. Probably one that I will repeat because I am an impulsive idiot.
Nonetheless, the rebellion was a success. It was glorious. I survived it, though our rebels did suffer some werewolf-related casualties.
Oh well.
Win some, lose some.
*My last name is Grendel. Like the monster from Beowulf. It’s not a total loss.
-Dakota the Dragonslayer
The Battle of Three Armies
The tension had been building between the Rebellion and the Royalty since the Empress and King arrived in Falton. Seeing the storm approaching, the Royalty had purchased the services of a formidable army. Yet, the army was not so large as to turn the Rebellion from their mission.
In the afternoon of a crisp autumn day, the Rebellion began to execute their plan and attacked the Royalty Army with heart and soul. Though an outsider would have considered the Royalty Army to have an overwhelming advantage, the fervor of a hired hand seldom matches the fury of one who feels their land and life are at stake.
Just as the battle got underway, the town was up-ended by the onslaught of a pack of werewolves and their Troll (the Ancient Yuletide Carol) master. It was mayhem as the quiet streets of Falton have seldom seen.
Instinctively, the Rebellion and Royalty Army banded together against the Troll and the werewolves. The monsters made a mighty stand, but as the Troll master was beaten down, the werewolves retreated to the hills. It was at this pause in the mayhem that there occurred a most unexpected turn of events.
In the quiet of the moment as the Royalty Army and the Rebellion paused to watch the mighty Troll fall to the ground, the Empress, who had been fighting alongside her army, was betrayed from within her own ranks. A hired hand she thought of as a trusted confidant, turned his sword upon her and took her life.
As she fell to the ground, a stunned silence fell over the field. First the Troll and now the Empress? This was beyond comprehension. As they watched the earth gently embrace the fall of the Empress, they noticed a wave of peace sweep over her and into the surrounding grass. They watched as the weight of the stress of leadership gave way, and the gentle beauty returned, that had once been known to launch a thousand ships.
Finally seeing the true intentions of the Royalty Army, the Rebellion felt unified with the Army. And yet, in this moment of seeming victory, both bands felt an unexpected sense of sorrow. The cry of one of the Rebellion leaders simultaneously strengthened the unity and dissipated the sorrow. Everyone knew the worst was ahead when they heard, “Watch out, he lives!”, as the Troll was seen staggering to his feet.
When the werewolves saw the Troll continuing to fight in spite of his injuries — as at times only the slow of wit are able, they raced from the hills to aid in the fight. After many blows, bruises, bludgeoning and blood, there was a lull in the battle that the Chief Werewolf seized as an opportunity to propose a truce.
Wary of a trap, the townspeople encouraged the Captain of the Guard to engage in dialog with the Chief. Surprisingly, given the weapons in hand and the smell of death in the air, the differences between the races were quickly resolved in favor of a harmonious partnership. It was agreed that almost any solution that resulted in no more bloodshed would be preferred to the present state.
This dialog ended with cheers from all as the Captain and the Chief embraced. The jubilant celebration masked for many the concealed dagger in the Captain’s left hand, and the lip curled over the two daggers that the Chief used for teeth.
With this embrace, the curtain fell on the evening. Many are celebrating the union, and yet some are left wondering how this embrace will end, and what will yet become of Falton. Join us in 2016 to live the rest of the story.
The Tale of Savine
Savine’s cloak swished as she walked, watching the people of Fallton mingle and shift their way through the town on business of their own. She sipped at her beer, tapping the mug as yet another faired haired lass chirruped by, her long sword tucked away in its cunning silver sheath. Since the new rulers had come and placed themselves in command of the once bedraggled town, things had quieted slightly. There was a stronger sense of order that had been missing for many an age, and it felt wrong over the wildly independent town of Fallton, rubbing Savine the wrong way. Order was fine, but she missed the tension of the chaos, danger, that kept a man up on his toes, fingers against his sword hilt. She had grown up with that, whatever frayed net of security was now attempting to cover the town felt false, Unearned. The unrest, the eagerness for quests and for danger still lurked, however, not prominently enough, not for her taste. She drank down her beer her eyes focusing across the square at a tall warrior fetching himself a drink from the beer keg beyond the fire. This was her town, her world, and the royals were about to find that out the hard way.
She continued walking as the warrior noticed her within the crowd, approaching quickly from her right, and she made a careful movement to move her beer mug out of his way. She might have been a ruffian, but by Fallton she had enough class not to waste a drop of her beer.
“Still have it?” Her voice was low as the warrior nodded his head and tapped at his pocket, a smile creeping over his face.
“Got it right here.”
“Good.” She took a swig from her mug, “We’ll need more support if we’re going to take this town back. See what you can do about rallying people to our cause, and be covert about it would you? We don’t want this going down in flames.”
“Right.” He was off from her side in a moment and she walked on, making her way towards the keg of beer as her eyes sifted through the crowd.
The bonfire in the middle of the town attracted dozens of people like moths to a flame, all eager to gather and gossip as well as partake in the treats offered up by the vendors established by the fireside. At the moment the place seemed even more crowded than usual, the royalty themselves not far off and participating in the customary mid-day feast. Savine resisted the urge to grimace and curl her lip back, turning away casually and ignoring the idle chatter. Ahead she caught a glimpse of the second rebel leader, chatting with his companions around him. The man was passionate, she would give him that, however he had already been in the stocks once; they would need to be more careful if they wished to be successful against the loyalists and the Empresses’ guard.
Her beer mug was long since full as she reached the barrel, filling her mug before turning on her heel, her cloak whisking behind her. For a moment, the all too familiar scar on her wrist burned into her flesh and she rubbed at the leather straps, wrapped around her skin to make the brand impossible to see. Across the square someone broke out into song and she stood straighter, catching a glimpse of her cousin’s red hair through the crowd, making his way towards the fire. Savine took another swig from her mug and strode over, a smile tugging at her face.
“He’s in.” She said quietly, nodding nonchalantly in the direction of yet another warrior she’d brought into the fold. Nearby her other contact walked towards them, boots swishing around a long skirt, “Our numbers are growing.”
“Good.” Her cousin grinned and she tossed back her cloak, glancing up in the direction of the missing royal flag. She kept her voice low as she raised her beer slightly a slow smirk spreading over her face.
“Long live the king.” She said quietly and drank down her mug.