Into the World, Chapter One

[sblock=DM Note, ooc]The following PCs are authorized to post in this thread:

Mikhail (renau1g)
Riggan (Voldrath)
Rosette (evillyn666)
Charlie (Dekana)
Darren (Walking Dad)
Trid Orto (Amazing Triangle)
Malixus (nick012000)

Everyone else, please post in the OOC thread if you have any questions, or if you wish to inquire about possibly joining the game in the future.[/sblock]
It was a sleepy little thorp, a little less than fourty souls, and shrinking. The pathetic little farming thorp of Sidel was dying, and dying fast. For years they farmed a single crop, potatoes, and now the fields have been completely drained of their nutrients. The main freshwater supply, a small river which ran from the west, was drying up into a creek, diverted by a rival thorp two days travel upstream.

This town was turning, quickly, into a dust bowl. There was no future here, the people knew it. Most of the larger families have moved on years ago, and now the only business at market with their doors still open was the blacksmith shop.

"You there," yelled a gruff sounding man

"Who me," spoke a little man, hunched over and worn by the
ravages of time.

"Yes you, come here now," returned the voice.

The little man turned to face the only pseudo authority figure in town, the blacksmith Roran. A tall imposing man, he was flanked by his equally imposing son Reun, full of muscle and tall as a tree. His son was not the smartest of boys, serving as his fathers enforcer. For years the duo made their living honestly enough, untill times got tough. They once got by charging outrageous fees for their services, and when that dried up, the blacksmith appointed himself ruler of the town, and began charging taxes.

"You have not paid your taxes," spoke the blacksmith.

"I have nothing to pay with, I do not," whimpered the little man, quivering in fear.

"Then I suppose you will just have to join the others in my fields won't you, after a good flogging," with that the Son stepped forward and siezed the little man, dragging him off to what used to be a respectable blacksmith shop.

"But I have a family to feed," cried the peasant.

But the blacksmith had already left his son to do the dirty work.

[sblock=ooc]You should all be present to witness this exchange.[/sblock]

Darren

That does it! thinks Darren. I have to go away. Away from Sidel, away from Roran, away from this creepy woods...

He searchs his sack for the dagger, given to him by his adoptive father, and his spare shirt.

Perhaps there are others who want to leave this worldly hell?

Charlie

A boy of 14 stands nearby picking rocks up off the dusty ground and hurling them as far as he can into the empty fields beyond the town. He is clearly poor; the boy wears burlap clothing, worn-down shoes with holes in the sides, and has long brown hair that reaches down to the base of his neck. Another orphan - the thorp had too many of them these days.

After the blacksmith threatens the peasant, the boy turns toward them and shouts from about 30 feet away, "Hey Roran, why doncha' leave him alone? That old fella' ain't gonna make you any money if he has a heart attack in yer fields!"

[sblock=rolls]Diplomacy: d20+3[/sblock]

A figure dressed in a patchwork of old clothes and animal skins scampers quickly away from the wizened man when the smith calls him out. Well dang there goes supper. Riggan speaks aloud to none in particular, Poor fella twas bout to agree to some fine squirrel stew.

He looks down at the scrawny creature he had been trying to cajole the man into sharing. Now what am I gonna do with this fella fore he goes ripe? I ain't no kinda cook.

The idea of wasting his catch after spending most of the day for it worried his morals as well as his gut. It was getting harder as the poor farmers resorted to hunting to try and make due. While not many were that successful their attempts had left the animals skittish for miles around.

Darren

Another street orphan joins the dialog. About the age of 13, he is only a little bit cleaner than his pal.

Yeah, let him go. He is to old to be of any use.

[sblock=ooc]Aiding another
Diplomacy d20+2[/sblock]

The tall, strong lad Mikhail looks on the scene with pity. He tried to stop the blacksmith and his son in the past, which only earned him a brutal beating. Mikhail unconsciously rubs the scar above his right eye, while remembering that instance. Seeing the others actually speaking up to the despot gives Mikhail hope that maybe they could actually do something if there was enough of them. "Be careful guys, remember what happened last time I opened my big mouth." Mikhail whispers to the other youths. He'll stick around just in case things get ugly, knowing that he can't leave his friends to the hands of the blacksmith.

Quietly to the others near by "Aye that son of his be a real bruiser, and the smiths no small man himself."

Malixus blinks, as he walks past after gathering some firewood.

"Since when did the blacksmith own any fields of note?"

Rosette peered out from behind the dangling remains of a worn out sign post which stood as a true symbol of the community's current state of condition. From her makeshift hiding spot, she bore witness to the altercation across the way. The blacksmith's style of diplomacy was all too familiar to the girl which only reinforced her natural instinct to hide. All Rosette knew is that she must stay out of sight or get out of Sidel, or preferably both. Unfortunately the children present were voicing opinions for some sort of confrontation...

A small boy covered in dirt stands off the road. If you can call it a road. The boy of 14 seems to be looking at all the kids, his fellow orphans and wonders what they hope to accomplish by helping this one man. The two brutes of men were not someone this frail boy wanted take on in a fight.

"Guys maybe we shunt be messin' in business that ain't ours," Trid looks at the Blacksmith shaking his head. Under his breath, "Why the old man he ain't worth the time he ain't strong enough to work the fields..."


[sblock]Dark Orange is my wonderful speaking color[/sblock]