[ic] nameless I: prologue

[doghead]

Cromwell Of St Richard's

CROMWELL OF ST RICHARD'S

Cromwell returns to his regular Watchtower, reports to his Sergeant, and passes on the Captain's message. The Sergeant listens until Cromwell is finished. Then he nods in acknowledgement.

"Righty-ho Cromwell. Get your stuff together and report to the Southtower duty-sergeant as ordered. You're excused from duty til then. That'll be all.

The Sergeant's manner softens a little after Cromwell gives his acknowledgement.

"I don't exactly know what the Captain has in store for you Cromwell, but I suspect it may involve some travelling. Get any gear that you need together before you present yourself. That would be my advice.

"You're a good soldier son. I will have you back in my Tower any day."

Cromwell has spent more than the occassional night in the tower barracks when off duty. Everthing he needs is right here. But he does have a room at the Church, and has one or two things there that might come in useful. And a little time for prayer never went amiss.

On the bed in his spartan quarters, there is a simple breastplate and old mace. On the breastplate, the symbol of Cuthbert is embossed into the strap of one shoulder, the symbol of St Richard's is embossed into the other. A soldier's breastplate. Engraving on the surface only gives arrows and swords something to bite into. As Cromwell puts it on, he feels as if the thing snuggles up against him, the fit so neat that there is hardly any of the usual awkwardness that comes with wearing a breastplate. The mace is plain, somewhat brutal looking even. Its obviously quite old. But it is finely weighted and balanced.

The Church grounds are as quiet as they usually are as Cromwell heads out. But somehow, he seems to bump into more brothers than he has seen in a week. Nothing out of the ordinary is said; a greeting, a polite inquiry as to his health, a well wishing for the future. So things have always been done at St Richard's.

ooc: Breastplate +1, Masterwork heavy mace.

 

[NeuroZombie]

Sadoloath looks quizically at his new found treasure, usure of what the goggles truely are. He dusts them off with the corner of his rough leather tunic, which does nothing but smear the dirt and grime encrusted on the goggles lenses. He decideds that a good dunking is in order, and walks along a tiny path, towards a small, slow moving brook that lies a hundred yards away.

Sadoloth makes it to the brook and leans down, gazing at his reflection in the slightly murky water. Deciding that the goggles are not the only thing that needs cleaning, Sadoloth removes his leathers and furs and steps into the tepid water. Scrubbing the goggles first, and then himself, Sadoloth removes the grime from both and then re-dresses, donning the goggles for the first time at the end of the ritual.

Sadoloth walks along the small path that leads back to the village, absently scanning the ground for the myriad signs of life that permeate his forest. Suddenly, his vision becomes tight and focused and Sadoloth sees the details of the paths and tracks left by the creatures of the forest in minute details. Amazed, Sadoloth stares at the gorunf and the tracks upon it, diferentiating between tracks a day old and a week old, between tracks left by a rabbit and a badger and a chipmunk. Sadoloth stands in awe for a few moments, then realizing that he may be late for his noon meeting, he leaves the tracks with a sigh and heads into town.

 

[doghead]

ooc: nice work NeuroZombie.

 

[Velmont]

"Keep this old ring. There is more to it than meets the eye. It has looked out for you for years, and from what I can understand of it, it will do so even better in what you are about to do."

"Thank you!" he said trying to hide his sadness. "Take care of Prince. He will be more usefull here, he could almost take care of the sheep himself." Hewik hugs one last time his mother and start to leave.

Prince start to follow him, as he usually do. Hewik stops and look at the dog. "Stay!" he order, and the dog sits. "I want you to guard the house and take care of mother. Do you understand? I know you understand. Don't be sad when I'll be gone. It is for the better of everyone." He turns around and start to goes away, and don't looks back.

Hewik start to wander, thinking of what just happen. I never wanted that! he thougth. His foot steps lead him to the place where the sheeps was usually lead so they could eat some fresh herbs. He looks at the forest, and enter it. He start to listen to the sound of wind in the leaves, the songs of birds. He find a little stream where he stops and drink. Hewik sits next to a big tree and start to looks at the ring. There is more to it than meets the eye. told his mother. He puts the ring over his finger... well it is a little too big...

"What?" said Hewik as the ring start to shink to fit exactly his finger. He fastly take it out and the ring take his full size again. He observe the ring again. Nothing very special, except of a nice craft it seem, a bit old. He puts the ring agan and the ring shrink again. "Thanks" he says and then he start to cry.

 

[doghead]

Lisa Guierre

LISA GUIERRE

As she strides home, Lisa considers several way to approach the conversation with her mother, but can find none that seem satisfactory.

Its all her fault! She's just so unreasonable. If I was swinging a ding dong then it wouldn't be an issue. She probably would have had me signed up the day I came of age.

There is only one real solution. It all goes to plan and Lisa arrives at the South Watchtower a good few hours early.

She is stunned to find her mother sitting there sipping tea and eating sandwiches with the duty Sergeant.

"Hello Lisa. You rushed off without having anything to eat. So I brought some sandwiches."

He mothers smile is wicked. And to make it worse, she say not a word about what has happened.

Anyone else arriving early is invited join a rather subdued Lisa, her mother and the Sergeant in finishing up the sandwiches. Her mother leaves a short time later, giving Lisa a kiss and small bundle as she does.

You might want to give Lisa a wide berth for a while. Or maybe not.

 

[doghead]

Archer Pathfinder

ARCHER PATHFINDER

It doesn't take Archer half an hour to pack up his meager possessions. He's not sure why he does what he does next, perhaps because he feels that you should have someone to say goodbye to before heading off to battle. He heads across town to the house of his only family in the town. Fairly distant family, but the best Archer can do.

Aunt Iselda looks him from head to toe and back again.

"Your brother was a good man, but had a head full of dreams of glory. I had hoped that you would have more sense, having seen where it got him."

She sighs.

"Wait here."

When she returns she carries in here hands a small bundle of grey-green material.

"This was your brothers. I have never mentioned it in the hope that you would never need it. But it seems that you do. Take it and begone now."

She hands the bundle to Archer without a further word.

As Archer leaves his Aunt says something softly to herself. He can't be sure but it sounded like "and be safe."

ooc: Cloak of Elvankind.

 

[Thomas Hobbes]

Cromwell burns with righteous fervor. He feels strong, he feels confident, and he feels like the Saint himself walks beside him in this endeavor. He walks through the streets of Seven, his mace at his belt, his shield on his back, and his breastplate shining. He heads to the meeting place.

 

[NeuroZombie]

ooc: Thanx Doghead

 

[doghead]

The south watchtower

When everyone is there, the Sergeant rounds you up, with the exception of Cromwell, into a small group.

"Last chance to step back? ... No. Right repeat after me."

What follows is a brief oath, to be honest and loyal, uphold the honor of the guard and, of course, protect the town and region from harm.

"Welcome to the guard. Now, just a few formalities."

A large book is placed on a table and opened to a random page. In it you see a column of names written in a neat hand. Next to them a date, and next to that a signature or mark. In the next column another date and either the same signature or mark, or a small notation. "Died on duty". "Died". "Lost". "Didn't report in".

"Right, Roberts will note your name and today's date. You'll then sign it. Or put you mark. If you live long enough, you get to sign out here, like this. Otherwise Roberts will have to do it."

The Sergeant turns to another page, pausing long enough for you to get a glimpse. Of the fourty names listed, there are only three lonely matching pairs of signitures. Well actually, two pairs of matching signitures and a pair of matching marks. Wordlessly, the Sergeant flips to the current page. There are about a dozen names on one side. Most of them have no second entry, including Cromwell's. Serving members still, you realise. Your name joins those in the book.

After adding you signature or mark, the Sergeant gives you an appraising look then says something cryptic to his aide, who makes notes on a small piece of parchment. When its all done, the book is closed and taken back by the scribe, who puts in in a large satchel along with the other piece of parchment.

The Sergeant turns to you and barks.

"Corporal Cromwell!

"You have the rest of the afternoon to teach these whelps how to hold a sword and avoid sticking themselves or their companions. Get some time in on ranged weapons as well. Let Roberts here know within the hour what equipment you want. Make sure that they know how to use it.

"Get going."

ooc: Standard guard equipment includes armour - mail shirt or studded leather and optional small wooded shield - short sword or mace, longbow or light xbow. However, the guard is fairly relaxed about who carries what. There is a fair mix of stuff in the armoury and amoung the members.

 

[DrZombie]

Nate walks around the guardhouse, looking at the various bits and pieces of armour and weaponry. Whoa, who would have thought this a few weeks ago. He picks up a chain shirt, and is surprised to see it fits. Handling a few swords, waving 'em about daydreaming about slaying dragons, he manages to tangle the scabbard between his legs, going down in a huge explosion of sounds as he knocks over a shelve of weaponry, almost managing to get his foot cut off. He then decides a heavy mace might be a safer option, and starts to clean up the mess, redfaced and sweaty with shame.