Rebellion

[vl.arandur]

Closed game
System: Pathfinder
Start date: 16th January, 2012

Players:
Celesarn (A.)
Ranoras (B.)
Toncinap (K.)
Tim4488 (T.)

Synopsis:
It has been some three hundred years since humans first landed on the southwest shore of Bair; since then, they have spread like a disease throughout the southern half of the continent. They have established three metropolises - a concept unknown to the continent before - and countless cities and villages, encroaching upon the previously idyllic ancestral homes of the elves, the halflings, and the gnomes of Bair. The humans are a threat precisely because they move and reproduce so quickly: the formerly dominant race on Bair, the elves, exist largely in their autonomous villages throughout the wilderness, meeting with their king in the capital cities only once every roughly 250 solar years (3125 lunar months). At the last meeting, 150 years ago, the humans were still safely behind the southern mountains; not a threat to anyone at all, except possibly the dwarves. (The dwarves are extraordinarily reclusive, even the two clans to the south; it is not entirely clear whether they as a whole are even aware that the humans have arrived on their continent.) But now they have moved forward and to the center of the continent, establishing a new city for themselves called Avalon. The elves will not meet for another one hundred solar years, and there's no guarantee that their king, ever complacent, will recognize the serious threat the humans pose. The time has come to act with immediacy.

You are part of The People's Liberation Army, a valiant but tiny group of forty or so brave individuals who have accepted the mission of awakening the sleepy citizens of this world to the imminent Armageddon, and of rallying them to war against the human menace. You have no official authority, you have few supplies, and you have little time: every day the humans get more settled in, and the memory of your beloved peace seems further and further away.

 

[vl.arandur]

You are encamped some five miles outside Anfalas, in a sunny meadow which would likely be more picturesque without your encampment in it. You are a ragged bunch, weary from the weeks - for some of them, months, or years - of futile struggle against a numberless foe. But still you press on, holding onto the hope that you can yet rally these your people, that you still have a chance of reclaiming your homeland.

Unfortunately, hope has something of a high CMD, and often enough threatens to escape your clutches.

The four of you are gathered in your section of the meadow, killing time until you are assigned something more fun to kill. You four constitute a company, one of three led by your commanding officer, the halfling Theadric, a woodsman who knows the forest like the back of his hand - and the back of his hand is somewhat of a forest.

You all stir into something with a passing resemblance to attention as the same Officer Theadric approaches your circle, glancing around as is his paranoid habit, even in the midst of a clear meadow - as if he were aware of some omniscient invisible third party keeping track of his every movement, with enough fidelity to hypothetically narrate it.

"Listen up, scumnuggets. Just met with the General, and he says you all have a special mission." He hands Peregard a bound scroll with a significant look. "Take this; it's your mission. Travel half a day north, making sure you aren't followed, and then read it. It's important, so leave as soon as you can."

You have been under Theadric's command for a while now, and you know him to be a kindred spirit. He'll take a bit of insubordinate backtalk in stride, knowing that you all are loyal to the Mission - that is, to kill the humans as efficiently and to as great a degree as possible. The General, on the other hand... is much less amenable to fooling around. When the General gives an order, it is obeyed.

 

[Tim4488]

Peregard Overborough steps forward to accept the scroll somewhat solemnly. "Thanks, captain." A fellow halfling, Peregard is a bit shorter than Theadric, and certainly less robust and hearty looking than the woodsman. His hair is a light, sort of dusky brown, short enough to be practical without being so short as to bore, and his eyes are a grey-blue, with occasional extra colors depending on the light. A priest of... sorts, he wears studded leather armor, carrying a morningstar at one side, a sling with a pouch of bullets at the other, and two short spears across his back. A holy symbol that never quite sticks clearly in the minds of his companions rests in an easily accessible pouch, and a backpack on the halfling's back carries the rest of his various and sundry gear.

 

[toncinap]

Caratra pushes her inky black hair behind her ear as Peregard accepts the scroll. With a slight head turn and a quiet sigh, she blinks her eyes at her surroundings, surveying the open area with an alert and careful gaze. Her longbow rests on her back, almost without touching any part of her, its wood baring some sort of intricate markings that have been burned into it; they look as if they took a large amount of time, patience, and devilish contact, for they are obviously not friendly and inviting tokens.

The General. One day, she was sure she would have the strength to destroy him, and to do it slowly. Her flesh crawled every time she heard about the man that was always barking ridiculous orders at them. But over the years she had learned that patience was the only way to control a situation, and therefore, she would have to wait for that particular day - and focus on the one at hand.

With a look the other way, and a very small and gentle smile at her twin brother, Caratra turns to face the opposite direction as everyone else, preparing for what she feels is inevitable: bloodshed. The world is never safe and remembering that is the only way to make sure you survive, and even then it is not guaranteed. Yet the petite woman seems at peace with this idea - she is almost smiling as she looks around, and if listening close enough, one might even think she is humming quietly to herself - even though her lovely warm blue eyes are ablaze with something other than caution and tranquility.

Perception check:

 

[Ranoras]

The crow man sat on the ground whistling a merry tune as he sharpened his falcata to a keen edge. It was a daily routine and he had been keeping his body in as good a condition as his sword. Lorem was a mercenary by trade and had found himself not above taking jobs on the side to keep in practice. With a sigh of satisfaction he ran his thumb over the blade and smiled as it clipped one of his feathers effortlessly.

He sheathed his sword and strode towards Peregard excitedly. In those little hands was held their first mission, and Lorem's first opportunity for some action. A mercenary by trade, he couldn't help but think of the rewards that might be gained from toppling an entire nation to reclaim their lands. Of course, it was even better that blood would be shed along the way.

Lorem whistled a merry tune.

 

[Celesarn]

Misfits, the lot of them. What a strange company I have found myself in, muses the tall, cloaked figure standing near Caratra. And this suits him just fine. Never one to have found his place in society, it is still unnerving being in an army of any organization (if this angry band could be called organized - or, for that matter, an army). As one who has spent most of his life wandering and scavenging, a harsh, militant lifestyle is no added strain, but though the professional military of his home realm may have been a road out of poverty, it had never appealed to this free spirit. Partially due to the stricture of the program, and mostly because any member of his home military would likely kill him on sight. So he is content to remain an enemy.

Though all present are familiar enough with his pointed facial features and pale complexion, Marcus still wears the hood of his cloak pulled well over his head, obscuring most of his face, out of habit and precaution. He pulls his cloak even tighter around himself, leaning heavily on the walking stick which he has spent the last few minutes carving. The support is unnecessary, but the whittling has kept his hands busy. Now, however, he begins to feel restless again. His hands fidgeting intermittently, he watches as his older sister surveys the area. She always was the patient one. Caring, calm, calculating. If it weren't for her, Marcus remembers coldly, he would have starved on many a cold night. But finally, the two of them have found their chance. She told him to wait, to let it be for a time, and now there is a resistance which they can join, bent on ending the humans. No situation could be more opportune. Except, perhaps, one which did not involve taking orders from that infuriating halfling.

So lost in thought is Marcus that he has mostly misses the instructions of said irritant. Absent-mindedly stroking his pet rat, which has climbed onto the top of his traveling stick, he turns and looks questioningly at the scroll in Peregard's hand, eager to learn of the new mission.

 

[vl.arandur]

Theadric grunts in acknowledgement of receipt, and turns to go, shaking his head a little. A creepy bunch they were. Peregard was the only one who ever said more than two words together to him, and the rest... well, turning his back on them felt like turning his back on a pack of hungry wolves. That Marcus... well, he could probably take him in a fair fight, but he also had the feeling that any fight with Marcus wouldn't quite be "fair".

Had someone told Theadric at that moment that he would never have the opportunity to fight with Marcus, he probably would have been relieved, for a moment. The irony never struck him; the arrow got there first.

As Theadric falls, a medley of screams arises from the encampment as people suddenly find themselves with arrows sticking out of them. Only the first volley has landed, but already five are injured. From the number of arrows, you can tell you're well outnumbered; from the direction that they're pointing, you can tell that the unseen army is hiding in the forest to the south.

In retrospect, camping in a small meadow surrounded by thick forest may not have been such a great idea.

 

[Ranoras]

"More arrows than I have fingers," Lorem mused but for a moment before bringing forth his Falcata once more. He had no intention of fighting being outnumbered as they were. His eyes were already focused north on his escape, but he wouldn't mind a crimson polish on his blade should they encounter a trap to the north as well. After all if the forest surrounded the meadow, so might their enemies.

Lorem darted off keeping low to the ground not looking back thinking to himself that if they weren't dead they'd find somewhere to go as well.

 

[toncinap]

Caratra curses quietly under her breath as she automatically ducks down close to the ground. It only takes her a blink of an eye to decide that this fight is absolutely going to be the death of all of them, though if the crow man had not taken off, she would have stayed for kicks. With enough time, anyone can aim that well. Best not forsake the only help you are going to get, however.

With a slight nod to Myth, her fox, she dashes off after Lorem, her long hair trailing her, senses shut to the screams around her. Memories of fire come to her at the sight of the dying, and she smiles to herself a little as she breaks out into an all out zig-zag run.

Marcus hears a gentle and soothing voice nearby. It is obviously his sister's voice, and if he were to look down, he would see that Myth has stayed with him, and is brushing up against his leg protectively with eyes wide and alert. He will lead you to me if you are to lose sight of me, brother. Try not go get either of you killed.

Caratra brings her weapon to a ready in case there is a tasty surprise waiting for them, brushing her worry for her brother to the side as best she can.

Perception to see what's up in the woods we're all heading for:

 

[Tim4488]

Peregard ducks low... well, lower, dashing north, one hand on the handle of his morningstar. It figures that things never go too well. He keeps another hand close to his pouch, just in case his symbol is needed.