"The land will be worked communal for the most part," the soldier informed her "with your house likely to be in Main Street. For security reasons you know. Easier to protect when we are all huddled together. If you want to use your land for other things than to herd cattle or farming, perhaps a piece of meadow near the forest will suit you."
He pointed to where the soldiers were still busy pulling up houses "Just a couple of days M'am before your own house will be ready. We'll have you into something snug and warm before the winter comes." Which in these mountainous areas was likely to come sooner rather than later.
From Far They Came [Entrance Thread]
Moderators: Vanadius, Guido Cercatoro, Mods
A grateful smile flashed over Gaelena's lips at the soldier's suggestion. A meadow sounded nice near the forest sounded nice and the fact that it was communially farmed made her all the happier, since she knew nothing of crops. "That sounds perfect, sir," she replied.
His comment on the swiftness of her house's completion had her nodding. "That is fine." She could wait. There were families before her and probably more to come. They would need shelter more than she would. Besides, she had nothing to put in it.
Then, a question struck her. "Um...have any healers arrived?"
His comment on the swiftness of her house's completion had her nodding. "That is fine." She could wait. There were families before her and probably more to come. They would need shelter more than she would. Besides, she had nothing to put in it.
Then, a question struck her. "Um...have any healers arrived?"
[i]Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire, you will what you imagine and at last you create what you will.[/i]
George Bernard Shaw (1856 - 1950)
[size=75]Avatar by Lena[/size]
George Bernard Shaw (1856 - 1950)
[size=75]Avatar by Lena[/size]
Gaelena sadly shook her head. "I have just the basic training, nothing formal. I had hoped that perhaps one of the recently arrived would be one, so that I could offer myself as an apprentice. Indeed, I had been just starting formal training when the announcement came."
She shrugged her shoulders then turned a smile full of hope and perhaps just a bit of promise on the soldier. "If you hear of one, could you please send word? I would be ever so grateful."
She shrugged her shoulders then turned a smile full of hope and perhaps just a bit of promise on the soldier. "If you hear of one, could you please send word? I would be ever so grateful."
[i]Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire, you will what you imagine and at last you create what you will.[/i]
George Bernard Shaw (1856 - 1950)
[size=75]Avatar by Lena[/size]
George Bernard Shaw (1856 - 1950)
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Maeve
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The soldier nodded, giving her a warm smile "I will M'am, and bless your heart, if anybody comes this way that needs the help of a mere apprentice I will call for you too. No reason why you cannot learn on the job."
OOC: feel free to enter the other threads. You can also create a thread for your home. I'll make that one sticky
OOC: feel free to enter the other threads. You can also create a thread for your home. I'll make that one sticky
[i][b][color=orange][size=92]Smile and carry a big stick.[/color][/b][/i][/size]
It seemed a grateful smile was set permanently on Gaelena's lips as she graced the soldier with another one. "Indeed not. Please, I would be happy to help in any way I can, no matter how small. Thank you so much."
So saying, she went to lie down in the tent she had been supplied with. She was quite tired from the previous day's adventures. It seemed change in her life was not about to cease any time soon.
So saying, she went to lie down in the tent she had been supplied with. She was quite tired from the previous day's adventures. It seemed change in her life was not about to cease any time soon.
[i]Imagination is the beginning of creation. You imagine what you desire, you will what you imagine and at last you create what you will.[/i]
George Bernard Shaw (1856 - 1950)
[size=75]Avatar by Lena[/size]
George Bernard Shaw (1856 - 1950)
[size=75]Avatar by Lena[/size]
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Guest
'Confusion' - will be my epitaph.
Samheen 24th. The Citadel.
Septimus Doobidoob Queq. That was his name. At times the poor halfling became so troubled, so insecure about everything around him, that he even began doubting he remembered his own name as it had been given him. Come to think of it, did he really know that was just the name that had been given him? After all, he could not remember anything of it, and even if he had, then he must have heard it - but could one trust the senses? Often it seemed not.
Septimus Doobidoob Queq. His well-to-do father had given him the noble name Septimus, and his mother had given him the less noble name Doobidoob. Damn it, that is my name...
...possibly. "Septimus Doobidoob Quaq," he said, resigning, then handed over the last of his money. "Destination: Pax." And so he prepared to step through, but was - immediately, suddenly! - struck with a feat of paranoia. What if the portal did not work? What if the journey was jarred and Septimus was lost in the timeless prairie between two portals, for eternity! However...the halfling's scratched his head...if he became timeless...then he could hardly become timeless for eternity. For eternity could only exist where there was a temporal dimension.
And Septimus winced. Winced at his own thoughts, his own mind deconstructing all thought material it had built up. Everything - so confusing! Never making sense! Nothing could be trusted! Not senses, not rational thought...certainly not emotion!
Though he in retrospect would suspect it involved a kick in his backside, Septimus was not quite aware at that moment what happened next (and while something told him it was in his mind only, he promptly forgot that).
Timeless.
And as a matter of fact, the halfling was not quite aware what happened after either. He was floating...yet at the same time he was not. For did floating require a material to float in? If so, Septimus no doubt was not floating, because he was floating in thin air. That was, it was not thin air either, actually it was exactly what would have been there if one left out the thin air, ergo...
Nothing. It was nothing. Nix. And Septimus' mind began to spin. No longer able to separate his own mind from reality (if he ever had), the halfling's world blurred. Septimus could not bear lack of fundament. Could not bear feet of clay. Living in a house of glass. Caliginous. Such obtenebration. How incomplete was it not to exist when a proper discourse was not allowed for the fundament of living. When laws were ghosts - how to perform in accordance to them? When what should be taken in public was taken privately. Such was Septimus' existence now - confused, disallowed, quarreled, decrease of freedom - on two levels at least. For everything was a blur, no aid was expected from above. No leniency. Why? Why? Always confused. Why can I not find a basis, a fundament? Why was it denied him? Oh, woe.
Pax. The portal. Samheen 24th.
Out of the portal rambled an aging halfling, falling flat on his face. "Ooooooo...!" the fellow squirped in despair. Oh no. Oh, woe. Where am I now? Where? Such confusion! He looked around. Where had he ended up. Good or bad? Why - oh, why - would nothing ever be true, eternal, constant? "Septimus Doobidoob Quaq is my name! Or is it?" His holler reached far and wide - filled with anguish. Uncertainty. He looked up. Then saw a portal. Perhaps, perhaps...
The old halfling came to his feet with astoninshing swiftness, then rushed towards the portal!
Samheen 24th. The Citadel.
Septimus Doobidoob Queq. That was his name. At times the poor halfling became so troubled, so insecure about everything around him, that he even began doubting he remembered his own name as it had been given him. Come to think of it, did he really know that was just the name that had been given him? After all, he could not remember anything of it, and even if he had, then he must have heard it - but could one trust the senses? Often it seemed not.
Septimus Doobidoob Queq. His well-to-do father had given him the noble name Septimus, and his mother had given him the less noble name Doobidoob. Damn it, that is my name...
...possibly. "Septimus Doobidoob Quaq," he said, resigning, then handed over the last of his money. "Destination: Pax." And so he prepared to step through, but was - immediately, suddenly! - struck with a feat of paranoia. What if the portal did not work? What if the journey was jarred and Septimus was lost in the timeless prairie between two portals, for eternity! However...the halfling's scratched his head...if he became timeless...then he could hardly become timeless for eternity. For eternity could only exist where there was a temporal dimension.
And Septimus winced. Winced at his own thoughts, his own mind deconstructing all thought material it had built up. Everything - so confusing! Never making sense! Nothing could be trusted! Not senses, not rational thought...certainly not emotion!
Though he in retrospect would suspect it involved a kick in his backside, Septimus was not quite aware at that moment what happened next (and while something told him it was in his mind only, he promptly forgot that).
Timeless.
And as a matter of fact, the halfling was not quite aware what happened after either. He was floating...yet at the same time he was not. For did floating require a material to float in? If so, Septimus no doubt was not floating, because he was floating in thin air. That was, it was not thin air either, actually it was exactly what would have been there if one left out the thin air, ergo...
Nothing. It was nothing. Nix. And Septimus' mind began to spin. No longer able to separate his own mind from reality (if he ever had), the halfling's world blurred. Septimus could not bear lack of fundament. Could not bear feet of clay. Living in a house of glass. Caliginous. Such obtenebration. How incomplete was it not to exist when a proper discourse was not allowed for the fundament of living. When laws were ghosts - how to perform in accordance to them? When what should be taken in public was taken privately. Such was Septimus' existence now - confused, disallowed, quarreled, decrease of freedom - on two levels at least. For everything was a blur, no aid was expected from above. No leniency. Why? Why? Always confused. Why can I not find a basis, a fundament? Why was it denied him? Oh, woe.
Pax. The portal. Samheen 24th.
Out of the portal rambled an aging halfling, falling flat on his face. "Ooooooo...!" the fellow squirped in despair. Oh no. Oh, woe. Where am I now? Where? Such confusion! He looked around. Where had he ended up. Good or bad? Why - oh, why - would nothing ever be true, eternal, constant? "Septimus Doobidoob Quaq is my name! Or is it?" His holler reached far and wide - filled with anguish. Uncertainty. He looked up. Then saw a portal. Perhaps, perhaps...
The old halfling came to his feet with astoninshing swiftness, then rushed towards the portal!
Last edited by Guest on Wed Oct 26, 2005 7:50 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Finley Ward
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The old halfing's yell attracted no little attention - all eyes in the area swiveled towards the struggling Septimus, all action frozen at the strangeness of his little figure, his confused expression, and his sudden leap to his feet...
He might have made it back to the portal, had all things been equal. He might've ended up somewhere altogether different, escaping the curious gaze of all those onlookers who had heard him yell and had decided their chores were far less interesting than this little scene. He might've, but... he hadn't counted on the sturdy figure of Matthias Stowe stood directly in his path.
Matthias had not joined up for this, he was sure. He'd imagined soldiering to be an exciting job, full of adventuring and battle and telling people what to do in a loud voice. You couldn't have accused Matthias of being overly bright - and he had the figure to match the brain - broad would be a good way of describing him, though not fat - there was simply a lot of him. He'd spent all day lugging around great armfuls of wood, and so far the engineers hadn't even sorted out decent toilet facilities. Needless to say it didn't exactly improve his mood to have a small, confused halfling run straight into him and his armful of planks, which he dropped. One of them fell on his toe.
Matthias swore, loudly. "What in the hells d'ya think yer doing, mate? Try looking where ya going!" He bent to retrieve his load of wood, grumbling indistinctly under his breath. Then he stopped, dropped the wood again deliberately this time, and eyed the halfling thoughtfully. "Hold on jes' a second... You new here, mate?" In the back of Matthias' rather slow mind he was warming to the idea of being helpful to this strange little bloke - telling people what to do in a loud voice was very underrated these days, he considered.
He might have made it back to the portal, had all things been equal. He might've ended up somewhere altogether different, escaping the curious gaze of all those onlookers who had heard him yell and had decided their chores were far less interesting than this little scene. He might've, but... he hadn't counted on the sturdy figure of Matthias Stowe stood directly in his path.
Matthias had not joined up for this, he was sure. He'd imagined soldiering to be an exciting job, full of adventuring and battle and telling people what to do in a loud voice. You couldn't have accused Matthias of being overly bright - and he had the figure to match the brain - broad would be a good way of describing him, though not fat - there was simply a lot of him. He'd spent all day lugging around great armfuls of wood, and so far the engineers hadn't even sorted out decent toilet facilities. Needless to say it didn't exactly improve his mood to have a small, confused halfling run straight into him and his armful of planks, which he dropped. One of them fell on his toe.
Matthias swore, loudly. "What in the hells d'ya think yer doing, mate? Try looking where ya going!" He bent to retrieve his load of wood, grumbling indistinctly under his breath. Then he stopped, dropped the wood again deliberately this time, and eyed the halfling thoughtfully. "Hold on jes' a second... You new here, mate?" In the back of Matthias' rather slow mind he was warming to the idea of being helpful to this strange little bloke - telling people what to do in a loud voice was very underrated these days, he considered.
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Guest
Confusion - will be my epitaph, thought Septimus Doobidoob Quaq. The halfling barged and banged into the broad figure that was Matthias, though he did not know that yet. Next moment Septimus found himself entangled in some wooden material...
Well, damn, where may I have ended up...someone trying to block their portal? Septimus thought of course he had barged not into a broad guardsman, but into the portal, and was now a different place entirely. Taquar? He heard there was a lot of wood there. But why would they block their portal.
Only then did Matthias' voice come through to him. "What I'm doing? Where I'm going? New here?" Poor Mathiass, he did not know the implications of such questions to Septimus. It was questioning the halfling's existence, for Septimus could only answer that he did not know, and that was the tragedy. Never did he know.
For always was his freedom moderated. Moderated, moderated, moderated. No fundament was allowed created for his existence. Oh yes, the moderators (whatever form they took) took care of that. Splitting dialogue, taking dialogue private...and so Septimus was always lost. When his contextual existence did not cooperate, how could Septimus himself operate? Oh, woe. Always confused. Always.
But then his master plan formed. He would frustrate them. Frustrate them who moderated his freedom. If they did not react to him, why should he react to them? Septimus Doobidoob Quaq stood quite still. He said not a word.
Well, damn, where may I have ended up...someone trying to block their portal? Septimus thought of course he had barged not into a broad guardsman, but into the portal, and was now a different place entirely. Taquar? He heard there was a lot of wood there. But why would they block their portal.
Only then did Matthias' voice come through to him. "What I'm doing? Where I'm going? New here?" Poor Mathiass, he did not know the implications of such questions to Septimus. It was questioning the halfling's existence, for Septimus could only answer that he did not know, and that was the tragedy. Never did he know.
For always was his freedom moderated. Moderated, moderated, moderated. No fundament was allowed created for his existence. Oh yes, the moderators (whatever form they took) took care of that. Splitting dialogue, taking dialogue private...and so Septimus was always lost. When his contextual existence did not cooperate, how could Septimus himself operate? Oh, woe. Always confused. Always.
But then his master plan formed. He would frustrate them. Frustrate them who moderated his freedom. If they did not react to him, why should he react to them? Septimus Doobidoob Quaq stood quite still. He said not a word.
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Finley Ward
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Matthias waited for some form of coherent reply from the halfling.
And then he waited some more.
After several burns, he pursed his lips thoughtfully - and for thoughtfully, read a single thought grinding its way through his mind so ponderously you might almost be able to hear the cogs turning. And that thought was, I didn' bloody join up for this shite...
He waved a hand in front of the halfling's unresponsive face, frowning slightly, then spoke in a low and frustrated tone, "You deaf or jus' stupid? Look, mate... I don't 'ave time ta fuck about 'ere - s'cuse my language - I got these bloody great planks to get back. You wanna play silly buggers that's your business... But you're still here when I get back an' I'll hafta get the Sarge involved. And he's in a foul mood, so that's your lookout, halfwit..." This last bit rather sourly - the soldier had already been on the receiving end of his superior's foul mood that morning, and it added to his list of perceived woes. Deprived of his opportunity to exercise a little authority on the general populace - authority that was only exercised on him, as the lowest of the low in Pax Honestus - Matthias gathered up his planks and stumped off, grumbling to himself under his breath.
Nearby, a few locals still watched Septimus hopefully - their chores far less interesting than this new, unpredictable character. Beyond that, towards the Provost office, a couple of soldiers in uniforms the same shade of royal blue as Matthias' had been gestured in his direction, quite obviously speaking about him. They made no effort to approach him, though - choosing, as the townspeople did, to wait and see what this odd fellow might do next.
And then he waited some more.
After several burns, he pursed his lips thoughtfully - and for thoughtfully, read a single thought grinding its way through his mind so ponderously you might almost be able to hear the cogs turning. And that thought was, I didn' bloody join up for this shite...
He waved a hand in front of the halfling's unresponsive face, frowning slightly, then spoke in a low and frustrated tone, "You deaf or jus' stupid? Look, mate... I don't 'ave time ta fuck about 'ere - s'cuse my language - I got these bloody great planks to get back. You wanna play silly buggers that's your business... But you're still here when I get back an' I'll hafta get the Sarge involved. And he's in a foul mood, so that's your lookout, halfwit..." This last bit rather sourly - the soldier had already been on the receiving end of his superior's foul mood that morning, and it added to his list of perceived woes. Deprived of his opportunity to exercise a little authority on the general populace - authority that was only exercised on him, as the lowest of the low in Pax Honestus - Matthias gathered up his planks and stumped off, grumbling to himself under his breath.
Nearby, a few locals still watched Septimus hopefully - their chores far less interesting than this new, unpredictable character. Beyond that, towards the Provost office, a couple of soldiers in uniforms the same shade of royal blue as Matthias' had been gestured in his direction, quite obviously speaking about him. They made no effort to approach him, though - choosing, as the townspeople did, to wait and see what this odd fellow might do next.
Last edited by Finley Ward on Fri Oct 28, 2005 8:07 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Finley Ward
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Matthias stopped, and turned, and dropped his planks once more with an air of finality. "You what?" He asked finally, his tone unimpressed and a little confused, if truth be told. But then, I ain't paid to think, am I? This'll be a job for the Sarge... and one he ain't gonna relish...
"Right," he added, coming to his conclusion with astonishing rapidity for a man of Matthias' meager intelligence. Perhaps it was the attraction of finally having some authority, any authority, after suffering the authority of his superiors in Pax Honestus, that spurred Matthias on - but he'd made his decision, and in a man as bright as Matthias that decision was not one that might be changed very rapidly. He laid a heavy hand on Septimus' shoulder - the sort of grip that implied authority, but more importantly strength of the sort that lay in wait until it was needed, but was so very abundantly present. What Matthias lacked in brainpower he more than made up for in sheer volume - and that volume included very little fat.
"You're comin' wiv me, sunshine. The Sarge likes a nice ordered city, and you ain't what I'd call ordered, are ya? In the head, like..." He strived to speak as kindly as possible, but his deep bass rumble of a voice came out as rather forboding, possibly even threatening. He paused, using his great weight and muscle to restrain Septimus in any way necessary, "And I been told any nutters oughta be locked up for their own good... 's what I'm told. So yeah. You get ta come wiv me..."
At this, Matthias leaned his weight in such a way as to push Septimus in front of him and in the general direction he wanted - in the direction of the bunch of soldiers outside the Provost Office, who would no doubt have a better idea of what to do with the obvious lunatic.
"Right," he added, coming to his conclusion with astonishing rapidity for a man of Matthias' meager intelligence. Perhaps it was the attraction of finally having some authority, any authority, after suffering the authority of his superiors in Pax Honestus, that spurred Matthias on - but he'd made his decision, and in a man as bright as Matthias that decision was not one that might be changed very rapidly. He laid a heavy hand on Septimus' shoulder - the sort of grip that implied authority, but more importantly strength of the sort that lay in wait until it was needed, but was so very abundantly present. What Matthias lacked in brainpower he more than made up for in sheer volume - and that volume included very little fat.
"You're comin' wiv me, sunshine. The Sarge likes a nice ordered city, and you ain't what I'd call ordered, are ya? In the head, like..." He strived to speak as kindly as possible, but his deep bass rumble of a voice came out as rather forboding, possibly even threatening. He paused, using his great weight and muscle to restrain Septimus in any way necessary, "And I been told any nutters oughta be locked up for their own good... 's what I'm told. So yeah. You get ta come wiv me..."
At this, Matthias leaned his weight in such a way as to push Septimus in front of him and in the general direction he wanted - in the direction of the bunch of soldiers outside the Provost Office, who would no doubt have a better idea of what to do with the obvious lunatic.
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Guest
Confusion, will be my epitaph, thought Septimus. And none will allow for me to establish a fundament from which I can orientate myself. Oh, woe. And so, in despair and anger, Septimus burst out with his story.
"Once upon a time, guard, there was a halfling practicing his intellectual freedom. His freedom of thinking what he wanted. He visited the Aether, and he visited the Nether. He heard the voice's of the gods. Then came a totalitarian voice and told him STOP! Your mind is subject to the laws of the police state, your thought shall be limited. Censored! And the halfling - diplomatically - put all the cards on the table, and started a fruitful discussion. But nay, said the totalitarian voice. Here we decide. We decide everything. And the public discourse was locked, and the communication was moved to private means. And in the longest the halfling attempted being polite, and he began expressing his critique of the system through more subtle means - by pretending to work with them. Through their own channels he voiced his concers and doubts...
...and he knew he would be heard. And there would be revolution. Yes, he even invented a secret code through which he communicated with his comrades."
(EnigmOOC: Jxx7^^8alURGGkk - - --- --- -- -¨ 19qq = AVIV AL NOITULOVER! AVIV AL NOITULOVER!)
"Once upon a time, guard, there was a halfling practicing his intellectual freedom. His freedom of thinking what he wanted. He visited the Aether, and he visited the Nether. He heard the voice's of the gods. Then came a totalitarian voice and told him STOP! Your mind is subject to the laws of the police state, your thought shall be limited. Censored! And the halfling - diplomatically - put all the cards on the table, and started a fruitful discussion. But nay, said the totalitarian voice. Here we decide. We decide everything. And the public discourse was locked, and the communication was moved to private means. And in the longest the halfling attempted being polite, and he began expressing his critique of the system through more subtle means - by pretending to work with them. Through their own channels he voiced his concers and doubts...
...and he knew he would be heard. And there would be revolution. Yes, he even invented a secret code through which he communicated with his comrades."
(EnigmOOC: Jxx7^^8alURGGkk - - --- --- -- -¨ 19qq = AVIV AL NOITULOVER! AVIV AL NOITULOVER!)
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Finley Ward
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"Oh, he did, did he...?" In truth, Matthias wasn't really listening. He'd heard more than enough to confirm his assumption that this halfling was clearly delusional, and that made his next action very clear. Steering the little bloke towards the Provost Office took little time, as Matthias was a far bigger bloke and had encountered no great resistance. The halfling's unintelligable babbling couldn't have been said to be physical resistance, after all. The Provost Office had been busy all day with comings and goings of both soldiers and newcomers - but now it was fairly quiet - as it approached eveningtide the stream of new citizens seemed to have slowed to the barest trickle.
"Problem, Stowe?" The man who addressed Matthias was a good few yahren older, wore the distinctive blue of the Pax Honestus, and was nowhere near as broad or tall, but it was obvious from his expression he was at least as tired and fed up - the soldiers of Pax had a lot of work to do to make this new town livable, and that work was spared none of them.
"Yeah, Sarge. 'iss bloke. He's a problem," Matthias stated shortly in his deep grumbling bass of a voice, keeping his heavy hand firmly on the halfling's shoulder, "knocked me over sprinting out th' portal. Been talkin' nonsense ever since then." Matthias tapped the side of his head meaningfully, and then added, "...barkin', I rekkon," in case his meaning was lost on the Sargeant.
It clearly wasn't lost on the Sargeant, a man of far greater intelligence than sturdy Matthias. The Sarge sighed deeply and regarded Septimus with a long, unamused glare, then replied, "Right. Well... Got anything to say for yourself...?" There was a note of slight hope in the older solider's voice grim, authoritative tone - he'd had more than enough to deal with today, and sorting out some sort of jailhouse at short notice didn't rate highly on his list of priorities.
"Problem, Stowe?" The man who addressed Matthias was a good few yahren older, wore the distinctive blue of the Pax Honestus, and was nowhere near as broad or tall, but it was obvious from his expression he was at least as tired and fed up - the soldiers of Pax had a lot of work to do to make this new town livable, and that work was spared none of them.
"Yeah, Sarge. 'iss bloke. He's a problem," Matthias stated shortly in his deep grumbling bass of a voice, keeping his heavy hand firmly on the halfling's shoulder, "knocked me over sprinting out th' portal. Been talkin' nonsense ever since then." Matthias tapped the side of his head meaningfully, and then added, "...barkin', I rekkon," in case his meaning was lost on the Sargeant.
It clearly wasn't lost on the Sargeant, a man of far greater intelligence than sturdy Matthias. The Sarge sighed deeply and regarded Septimus with a long, unamused glare, then replied, "Right. Well... Got anything to say for yourself...?" There was a note of slight hope in the older solider's voice grim, authoritative tone - he'd had more than enough to deal with today, and sorting out some sort of jailhouse at short notice didn't rate highly on his list of priorities.
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Guest
A martyr. He was a martyr. Septimus Doobidoob Quaq: first martyr of the revolution. Secured eternal peace and praise in the afterworld. In the future, people would seek his memory for comfort and hope when the system oppressed them at its worst. But one day - one day! - they would be victorious. Victorious! At the dawn of freedom, they would sing his name: Septimus Doobidoob Quaq, and know he was the one who started it all. Who planted the seed. Who gave hope. And who still lived - in their memories.
Calmly Septimus raised his arms, giving in, but not giving up. For he knew their oppression could - would not! - last. His expression was that of the hero, knowing full well his fate. He was determined to meet it. His time had come. His destiny was fulfilled. It was all necessary. Septimus stood with a straight back. He would go calmly into death. Meet it with a peaceful gaze. Yes, he was ready.
He was ready for his inevitable and necessary death.
Confusion, oh no, that would not be his epitaph. His epitaph was writ in the memories of man.
He was ready.
Calmly Septimus raised his arms, giving in, but not giving up. For he knew their oppression could - would not! - last. His expression was that of the hero, knowing full well his fate. He was determined to meet it. His time had come. His destiny was fulfilled. It was all necessary. Septimus stood with a straight back. He would go calmly into death. Meet it with a peaceful gaze. Yes, he was ready.
He was ready for his inevitable and necessary death.
Confusion, oh no, that would not be his epitaph. His epitaph was writ in the memories of man.
He was ready.
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Finley Ward
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Septimus Doobidoob Quaq, first martyr of the revolution, quickly found himself giving hope to the rebels from a small damp room at the back of the Provost Office, with heavy chains around the wrists he'd been helpful enough to present to the soldiers. The room had the benefit of a large and sturdy door with an equally large and sturdy iron lock to it, which left very little opportunity to escape. The Sergeant, particularly unimpressed with the small halfling's attitude, had taken the extra precaution of standing Matthias Stowe outside on guard duty. The Sargeant had then quickly abandoned the situation in possibly an even worse mood than he'd been before - though he could barely credit it himself. He mentally added 'talk to the engineers about gallows' to his vast list of duties for the day with a grimace, as he left.
Sadly for Septimus, epitaph writ in the memories of man, the gallows would prove a very real feature of his immediate future. A defining feature, you could say - he might live on in memories, but that was the only sense in which he would. The literal sense of living was now a distant, unattainable goal. And insanity, a crime punishable by death.
It was a good job he was so ready for it, really.
Sadly for Septimus, epitaph writ in the memories of man, the gallows would prove a very real feature of his immediate future. A defining feature, you could say - he might live on in memories, but that was the only sense in which he would. The literal sense of living was now a distant, unattainable goal. And insanity, a crime punishable by death.
It was a good job he was so ready for it, really.
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Finley Ward
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Hrothgar wrote:Hrothgar was unnerved, he almost dropped all of his belongings when his feet hit the other side of the portal. Pax Balthasar, it smelled of plywood and opportunity. He had never traveled through a portal and it made him sick. He had survived for 22 years without using one and mountaineering always brought surprises and generally, fortune. Alas, he had not trekked to Pax, but this was quick enough and Hrothgar thought it was well enough, A quicker route, easier of course, but closer to good fortune and 5 acres!That was why he had come. 5 acres was alot as the world began to grow and land was no longer a commodity as it was when he was younger.
The portal was a work of art nonetheless. It took a master engineer and plenty of physical as well as mental labor to construct such a thing. "First things first i suppose, I must locate an office of some sort and stake out my land before it all gets gobbled up." Finally taking a look around after the slight dizziness of the portal had worn off, Hrothgar was amazed. In the two or three days since Pax had become occupied, much had been done. There was what appeared to be a main street with a tavern looking building, most likely where he would need to go first, a possible shop and a few other hastily built structures. A wall was going up quick and even a dam, from the main street, housing stretched out toward the border which would be the wall and the forest outcrop. It was clear then that logging would be a very good business here, especially if he got his business up first, he would have a monopoly. "Straight to it then," and with that Hrothgar made his way down the dusty road which hadn't been traveled enough yet to be considered a thoroughfare.
When he entered the Inn, or whatever it was, a tavern perhaps, he noted a bar like room with a few tables, some stairs which led to rooms possibly and an office like area where a man sat behind a desk. Hrothgar put on his business face, scratched his beard and put out a hand. "Hullo, I'm here for the land." Of course many things raced through his mind, wood would be a necessity here, with the bitter winters that came down through the Howling Ice Mountains, all the new buildings that would need to be built on, furniture of course, and who knows what else. Of course once he got his land he would need to sit down to a quick lunch, get to the store and buy some supplies but he would immediately get to work.
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Finley Ward
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The Provost Office - for that was the building Hrothgar had found himself inside - was a small wooden structure, smelling vaguely of damp and the passage of many people. Pax Balthasar was still little more than a small outpost, but it's promises of land and a new life had drawn many to it, like moths to a candle flame, and the Provost Office had seen a great deal of traffic in the past days - a maid smiled and nodded a greeting to Hrothgar as he passed and continued with her sweeping up of the dried mud from the countless tramping feet that had passed by.
On the veranda outside stood a small desk, cluttered with papers and forms, and behind this a tired-looking man in a royal blue uniform. He eyed Hrothgar as the stranger approached, watched the tall man scratch his untidy beard and then offer a hand. The soldier grinned, slightly - the tiredness only registering in his eyes, and replied, "New here, are ya? Well... I've got a few questions for ya, then you can be on your way to yer new home..."
He shuffled through his papers briefly, searching for the appropriate forms - once he'd laid hands on them he paused, absent-mindedly chewing on the end of the quill, and then added, "Right, just need your name, place of origin, religion...?"
On the veranda outside stood a small desk, cluttered with papers and forms, and behind this a tired-looking man in a royal blue uniform. He eyed Hrothgar as the stranger approached, watched the tall man scratch his untidy beard and then offer a hand. The soldier grinned, slightly - the tiredness only registering in his eyes, and replied, "New here, are ya? Well... I've got a few questions for ya, then you can be on your way to yer new home..."
He shuffled through his papers briefly, searching for the appropriate forms - once he'd laid hands on them he paused, absent-mindedly chewing on the end of the quill, and then added, "Right, just need your name, place of origin, religion...?"
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Hrothgar
A thin smile escaped Hrothgar's lips. Perhaps a good shaking would do this fella good. Ruff him up a bit.Hrothgar reached down to his double sided axe and stroked its blade with his large hand staring straight at the man behind the desk with obvious intentions.
<br>"Hrothgar tis my name, and spilling blood is my game, if, you catch my drift. Dominicus of course, and King's Court. This will be my new home and i would...appreciate quite a few acres." With that Hrothgar pulled his axe up and set it lightly on the desk. "Perhaps, you'd be willing to help me out a bit."
<br>Hrothgar let those words settle in and then he thought of picking the man up and throwing him, it would be fun. But, he decided to wait a few ticks, just to see what would happen. The man was obviously tired, maybe he didn't want to get in a scruff. "Some good land too, near the forest or the stream." A slight wink and Hrothgar was sure he would at least have scared the man.
<br>"Hrothgar tis my name, and spilling blood is my game, if, you catch my drift. Dominicus of course, and King's Court. This will be my new home and i would...appreciate quite a few acres." With that Hrothgar pulled his axe up and set it lightly on the desk. "Perhaps, you'd be willing to help me out a bit."
<br>Hrothgar let those words settle in and then he thought of picking the man up and throwing him, it would be fun. But, he decided to wait a few ticks, just to see what would happen. The man was obviously tired, maybe he didn't want to get in a scruff. "Some good land too, near the forest or the stream." A slight wink and Hrothgar was sure he would at least have scared the man.
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Finley Ward
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"Hrothgar..." The soldier repeated, as he scribbled down the information, and then looked up at the taller man in surprise, "a Oneist? Oh right - assumed you were one of the pagan lot. Lookin' to join up, are ya? You'll want to go speak with the Captain - this time of day not sure where he'll be though. Michel Carbonneau - tall bloke, beardy. Can't miss 'im - he'll be the one givin' orders..."
The soldier paused, unsure what to make of Hrothgar's wink. Was the stranger flirting with him? He gave Hrothgar an odd look, and bent back over his paperwork, finishing the deed form, "here. We're fresh outta land near the stream but I got something near the forest you c'n have." He handed over the paper and gestured towards the plot of land. "Enjoy."
With that, the soldier returned to his paperwork, expecting the conversation over.
(OOC: Hrothgar - you're welcome to continue chatting with the soldier, but you can also post elsewhere in Pax now, if you so desire! Welcome, enjoy your stay... ;)
The soldier paused, unsure what to make of Hrothgar's wink. Was the stranger flirting with him? He gave Hrothgar an odd look, and bent back over his paperwork, finishing the deed form, "here. We're fresh outta land near the stream but I got something near the forest you c'n have." He handed over the paper and gestured towards the plot of land. "Enjoy."
With that, the soldier returned to his paperwork, expecting the conversation over.
(OOC: Hrothgar - you're welcome to continue chatting with the soldier, but you can also post elsewhere in Pax now, if you so desire! Welcome, enjoy your stay... ;)
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Hrothgar
Samheen 25th TradeTide
<br>Hrothgar thought about seriously hurting the soldier, but he had his own agenda and he got what he wanted anyway. Maybe he could buy more land later or something. 5 acres was alot anywho. First thing he would do would be to stop in at his house, set his stuff down, and figure it out from there. "Well, thanks for the suggestion, but a soldier's life isn't for me, maybe if i get set up i can offer you higher wages at me loggin mill." Hrothgar thought it was smart to start recruiting, at least get the idea out there, so it wouldn't come as a surprise when he put up a flyer or something.
<br>Hrothgar turned sharply and went back outside, and checked his deed and the scratches on it, and his made wis away across the would-be town, passing all kinds of peoples on his way.
<br>(OOC)Going to make a new thread for my house and 1 for what I'm going to do afterward, maybe go to the shop or something in which case i wouldn't need a new thread
I'll figure it out thanks Finn.
EDIT by Maeve: changed your starting date to the 25th. It fits better with the tides that the current PC's are on, and so allows you better interaction.
<br>Hrothgar thought about seriously hurting the soldier, but he had his own agenda and he got what he wanted anyway. Maybe he could buy more land later or something. 5 acres was alot anywho. First thing he would do would be to stop in at his house, set his stuff down, and figure it out from there. "Well, thanks for the suggestion, but a soldier's life isn't for me, maybe if i get set up i can offer you higher wages at me loggin mill." Hrothgar thought it was smart to start recruiting, at least get the idea out there, so it wouldn't come as a surprise when he put up a flyer or something.
<br>Hrothgar turned sharply and went back outside, and checked his deed and the scratches on it, and his made wis away across the would-be town, passing all kinds of peoples on his way.
<br>(OOC)Going to make a new thread for my house and 1 for what I'm going to do afterward, maybe go to the shop or something in which case i wouldn't need a new thread
I'll figure it out thanks Finn.
EDIT by Maeve: changed your starting date to the 25th. It fits better with the tides that the current PC's are on, and so allows you better interaction.
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Zander Xelrad
Zander timidly steps out of the portal to land in Pax Balthasar, he didn't understand how this worked. It was too...different...to him. He was more comfortable in the woods. He looked around for where he was supposed to go next. The people on the other side told him to go to the...provost office? Yes the Provost office. He looked around until he found the building with it as a he went to the door. He took a deep breath while closing his eyes. His new life awaited.
When he opened his eyes and looked around, his eyes sparkled at the splendor of the forest, this was his place...his home...his new life!
When he opened his eyes and looked around, his eyes sparkled at the splendor of the forest, this was his place...his home...his new life!
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Finley Ward
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After Hrothgar had taken his leave, the soldier behind the desk at the Provost office had become briefly distracted by a visitor - a young, attractive blonde in the basic but functional outfit of a servant or simply a commoner, who had paused in her duties to speak with him. The two of them were engaged in playful, flirtatious banter as Zander approached the veranda - the woman trying to prevent the soldier from stealing apples from the large, wicker basket she had balanced against her hip - only not trying particularly hard - the exchange involved much giggling on her part and gentle teasing on both. "...Mirya, in all honesty I only have eyes for your wares, how could you accuse me of anything else...?" The soldier feigned insult with his voice, but with his hands reaching round her waist to grab at the basket. She giggled, and pushed him away, "I swear, you lot get worse every day!" - and she noticed Zander, "...later, perhaps, sir... It appears you have work to be getting on with too..." She gave her opponent a little mock curtsey, and then offered Zander a warm smile.
Still grinning, the man in royal blue turned back to his desk and leaned forward - the exchange had left him in a far more cheerful mood than perhaps a lot of new arrivals had met with that day, for it had been a long and hard day for everybody - building a new town meant hard work for everybody, and the Pax Honestus had borne the brunt of it. "Another new arrival? Okay... if I could just get your name and place of origin... and... err... oh, and your faith, too..."
Still grinning, the man in royal blue turned back to his desk and leaned forward - the exchange had left him in a far more cheerful mood than perhaps a lot of new arrivals had met with that day, for it had been a long and hard day for everybody - building a new town meant hard work for everybody, and the Pax Honestus had borne the brunt of it. "Another new arrival? Okay... if I could just get your name and place of origin... and... err... oh, and your faith, too..."
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Zander Xelrad
As Zander sees the situation infront of him ending, he takes it as his situation to start. He starts walking up to the desk as he smiles slightly at the woman. He keeps walking up to the desk till he was face to face with the officer. When the officer asked for his name, place of origin and his faith, he kept his mouth shut, he looked to what he was recording it to and motioned to the writing utensils. He then paused for a second before going to his back pack and pulling out his quill and pad of paper to write, "Xelrad, Zander. Wolds Moth. Mothr." He smiled kindly at the officer as he showed him the piece of paper. Hiseyes drifted to the surrounding area of the room, his fathers...no <i>his</i> greatsword tight on his back, making him sand strait, he couldn't wait to get some more training in...