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not steve -> Three Castles, Two Walls. (6/19/2010 12:54:50)
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[image]http://i45.tinypic.com/bhwok8.png[/image]
Chapter One: Goodnight, from Gavrio
It was a misty night in the mining town of Vit Mear, a city at war. Outside of a small home near a local quarry a woman swept her walk. Before her was a large stretch of mountains and the sea, behind her countless homes and a very large stone wall. Her children were asleep inside, she left this choar to the end of the day because she enjoyed the cool humidity that came with a spring night in her town. She swept left and right as a currier on horseback approached and stopped at her home.
Emotionlessly looked down at her. "Mrs. Owen Brood?"
"Yes." She whispered, looking up with a fatigued joy. She had been anticipating a letter from her husband and was finally receiving it. The man reached into his bag and pulled out two letters, handing them both to her and than rushing off to another part of town. She was a little surprised to receive two letters at once, but knew the mail was slow and thought nothing more of it than a mistake. She opened the first one.
"Dear Kathy,
I miss you so earnestly, often times in battle I am distracted with thoughts of home. But don't worry about that, there are men far more skilled than I protecting me in my times of trouble. I have really grown attached to the men in my battalion, especially the captain. He is very charismatic, he makes it seem like that not only is defeat not an option, but it is a physical impossibility. All was going swimmingly until yesterday when we captured the water temple of lake Uldor. Generally this is a great victory and source of pride. It is what this whole war has been fought over, the favour of the demigoddess Vallira: misstress of water meeting earth. Unfortunately my dismay comes from the Captain drawing the shortest straw and myself and my friends being charged with the guarding of the temple. I fear for my life.
For three years now never has one side managed to hold the temple for more than a month, captain assures us that it will be different this time. The ranks ahead of us are strong as we could hope for and the back entrance is guarded by two war galleys large the river leading from Vit Mear would hold. Yet I know that the opposing ranks will be stronger than we could imagine and that Toupour will send three Galleys.
I doubt I will survive, but I am at peace. I write this letter starring into the roof of the temple, and it is absolutely beautiful. After the entirety of this conflict it is still in tact and so are our forces. If I die I die for my king, my country and for the people I love. I would rather have our children grow up in a world without me than in a world where I am a slave to those forest dwelling demons. I love you with all my heart, hope to see you soon and think of you often.
- Owen"
That was all the letter read, a single tear dripped down Kathy's cheek. Wondering if her husband was right. Hoping and fearing for him, she stared at the second letter seeing it as proof of her husband's survival; as assurance of his safety. But to her dismay it was not addressed from her Owen, but instead from King Augrus of Vit Mear.
"Dear Mrs. Owen Brood
I regretfully inform you that your husband died in service of his state, as was his entire battalion in an attack on the temple to Vallira. He will be missed not only as a brave soldier but as a great friend to his fellow men, except for those he now rests with in a place where war will never harm again.
- Augrus" The single tear that rolled down Kathy's cheek only moments ago had turned into a maelstrom of tears. She bashed her broom against the ground again and again before falling to her knees in grief. She cursed her king under her breath for his lack of sincerity but knew that Owen would not have wanted that. Not knowing what to feel she retired to her room and wept into her pillow until she finally slept.
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Six days away by horseback away from Vit Mear (despite the castle being unappeasable to any horseman coming from the aforementioned city) King Oran the second of Toupour stood on the rooftop of his castle sipping a glass of wine and looking off into the distance. Before him was a beautiful orchard and a deep river, behind him as well as Kathy stood a very large wall. To his left and beyond the river were his subject's homes, mostly asleep. As far removed from their lives as he was he loved every single one of them, he loved the way they treated each other, he loved way they loved their homes and he loved their tolerance for a war that he was growing rather ashamed of. He would never let that on though, no, that would be terrible for morale. He simply wished peace was an option even though everyone he spoke with made it quite clear that it wasn't.
He had seen king Augrus, met with him before this whole thing flared up and he did not dislike him at all. Quite to the contrary, he was a polite and agreeable men. He had a hearty laugh and his castle was nearly as beautiful as Oran's. He wondered if Augrus had to keep up appearances as much as he, if his support for this war needed to be as iron clad as Oran had to make his seem. This was not his war, but he didn't know who's war it was. He suspected that his people supported it because he did, and he only supported it because his people continued too.
Oran new that stepping down would be impossible though, it just wouldn't get perceived well. He would be seen as a weak king and weak kings got assassinated, but thinking about all the casualties of the war he wondered if his life was a price worth paying. He decided that it wasn't but thought himself selfish, yet that was what kings were supposed to feel! How many lives had he saved? He gave people food, water, protection and an identity: a pride that some might not want to live without! He gave them a flag and a destinction from their, they didn't just live in a forest, they were the people of Toupour! Besides, it wouldn't be so easy to settle for peace. What if Augrus didn't want it?
Oran so envied the King Scisilo, despite Oran's constant appeasement of him he refused to become involved, he sat in his castle overlooking the strawberry fields or whatever he was growing in his garden this season and ignored the battle off in the distance. As persistent and badgering as Oran's emissaries were he sort of respected that decision, now that he knew how ridiculous of an ordeal this war was turning out to be. He sighed and walked back down the stairs, through the hallways and back into bed with his wife, counting up the things he was to do the following day.
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Around four days north-west beyond a number of homes and across a cobblestone road stood a tavern in the state of Prothos where two drunken men bickered about the battle far south of them.
"Vit Mear has the right to that temple! Vallira clearly favours them, the dried riverbeds from long ago give them their farms and the eroded soil gives them precious metals! Not to mention the ease at which they mine with her aid. Our king should fight for them with all the strength he can afford!" Said the more bearded of the two men, draining his glass and motioning to the barkeep for another.
"LIAR! The water feeds the forest that shades Toupour, Vallira is their god by right! And don't pretend you care about who's god it is, you just like the iron. You just like the little presents they send over to try and get us to fight for them, your a fool!" Said the larger of the pair, stuttering on every fifth word but sounding threatening never the less.
"Your no better you drunken sod! What good will a few baskets of fruit be if they win the war and turn on us eh? Those forest imps are treacherous dogs and you and Sicilo are FOOLS if you don't see that!" Said the bearded fellow, rising and overturning his table. Just than a man in an overcoat bearing the blue and gold emblem of prothos across his breast pocket stood up.
"You are both under arrest by the authority of the fool you speak of for disturbing the peace, public drunkenness, affronting his highness and encouraging war." Said Chief of police Harold Gavrio.
"Public Drunkenness? We're in a bar!" Yelled the beard man back at Harold.
"And yet you wont be when I remove you from it, now get outside you dogs before I add affronting an officer of his highness." Spoke the man put in charge to deal specifically with these kinds of war-mongering fools.
"BAH! This war NEEDS to be encouraged!" shouted the larger of the drunken pair. "It'll be good for all of us WHEN Toupour wins!" The man drew a knife which The police chief picked out of the corner of his eye, before the man knew what was happening he was on his knees the with his knife in the palm of Harold and his elbow twisted in a direction that human anatomy dictated it shouldn't be.
"No it does not, look if you have managed to maintain your vision through all that ale through the window. Beyond a few scattered homes you can see a horizon, we are pretty much on the edge of town, Tell me because I KNOW you can still speak if you happen to see a large stone wall." The two men remained silent, the beard man having joined the other on his knees. "No, you don't. One war, three castles, two walls. We are not prepared to fight, we have no need to fight and as a result of that we will not fight. Now get up off the ground and follow me." The two did as he said. Harold liked his job, he was a bit of a self-righteous man and telling people the difference between right and wrong suited him well. He didn't much care for the war-time even tough the state he lived in suited him perfectly, he supported his king's decision for peace more so than he could imagine anyone in either Vit Mear or Toupour supported their king's decision for war.
Chapter 2: Goodmorning, from the Sewers
Chapter One: Good Morning from the Sewers
It was four-fifty five AM. The sun had yet to rise in the town of Prothos, but a man by the name of Jerald had. He swept the streets every morning, it was a rather demeaning job but it had sort hours and good pay, the only skill required was being able to drag yourself out of bed this early in the morning. In his first year Jerald always had trouble being late, but by now he had developed an internal alarm that went off at exactly four-fifty five. How? He couldn’t know, all he knew was that by the time he was dressed and out on the streets the clock tower over the library was at five, it didn’t chime before seven.
The man dressed in his normal sweeping garb, removed the glass guard over a loaf of bread on his kitchen table and cut a piece off of it. He stepped towards the door of his home, munching away and grabbed the trolley that held his various brooms. The city was kind enough to have them enchanted for him, but not kind enough to have it done by someone practical. Or at least that is what Jerald though.
The broom, in a stroke would lift the dust off the streets from about a metre-wide circle around the head and the dustpan would summon it. Jerald was an educated man, he didn’t know enough about magic to perform it but he did know enough to understand the basic types. He had went to his supervisor many many times proposing the use of wind magic, it was faster, it was stronger, it was more effective, but every time he was shot down with the excuse that it was just too loud for five o’clock in the morning. This was made all the more ironic by the fact that all to frequently as Jerald swept a gust of wind would come by and scatter the levitating dust about. It was almost as if his gods were taunting him, and though he had no way of knowing it one of them was. But that isn’t important right now.
Despite this, Jerald was satisfied with his Job. Of all the sweepers he had the most prestigious position. It was His job to sweep around the lake Donsep, which was fed by an underground river that flowed in from Vit mear, and outward through another such river to Topour. The city was built around lake Donsept, to it’s north was the castle, to it’s south was the library, to it’s east was the senate and to it’s west was The Great Prothian Bank. Scattered in between these buildings were a number of lakeside restaurants and the practices of skilled smiths, enchanters, cobblers, what have you. The residential districts moved outwards from the downtown in all directions except for south of the library, where there was a sort of Main Street with more tradesmen and businessmen practicing along it. The street moved towards to the city limits, it was just close enough to the battle that from atop the clock tower in the library where astronomers generally set up, you could clearly make out disputed temple with a telescope. It was far enough away however that you couldn’t see any of the battle with the naked eye, much less hear it with the naked ear.
Jerald started at the castle, and worked his way around in a ring. He looked across the river to the library’s tower. Five-o-three, not bad time for breakfast. He could probably be out of here by eight o’clock. He always started with the main streets when no one was awake, and worked his way into the allies as people got up, as far as King Scisilo was concerned the less people saw the city workers the better. Jerald didn’t mind, it wasn’t a glorious job anyway. Just as he was finishing up the castle’s steps a man with a medium build in a brown cloak and feathered hat emerged from a manhole, he was familiar to Jerald.
“Morning Jack” Jerald said in passing, not even looking up from his work.
“And to you Jerald. How are you this beautiful morning?” He said, rather cheerfully.
“You’re kidding me, it isn’t even close to morning yet” Jerald paused momentarily, allowing Jack to laugh a little. “It always amasses me, how do you manage to always leave that place so clean?” Jerald said, somewhat curiously.
“Old trick. But I’m never in for long anyways, only a choice few actually have plumbing.” Said Jack as he pulled leather gloves over his hands and adjusted his belt. It held a rapier with an ornate handle that interested Jerald.
“What’s with the sword?” Asked Jerald, as politely as he could muster. He was never really fond of those things, regardless of the fashion.
“That old thing? It’s just ornamental. I’ve never been trained with it.” Said Jack, and he spoke the truth. He was however trained with the throwing knives up his sleeves, and the two curved daggers tucked into the back of his belt. For unbeknownst to Jerald he wasn’t a sewer worker at all, he just used the sewer as a passageway that had been dug out for him. In truth he was both a spy and an assassin, sent from Vit Mear. Fortunately for Jerald, there was a great deal more emphasis placed on the former in his job description. He rarely killed anyone, and when he did it was usually other spys from Topour. Most of the time he just went to protests and took a feel for the mood, went to the senate and transcribed important points, snuck his way into dinners with the king and his associates. In the best times it was a very cushy job, but in the worst times it could become a living hell. “Have you gotten my paper for me?” Asked Jack, eagerly.
“Oh yes of course! I nearly forgot!” Said Jerald, picking something out of his trolley, and tossing it to Jack. He only sort of had to read it for his job, he did so mainly for his own enjoyment. Prothian papers always had a lot less propaganda in them than those back home. Jack was starting to feel like a real citizen there, he was quite loyal to King Augrus all the same but he was starting to feel rather at home in Prothos. He even had a girlfriend here as of late, by the name of Lindsey Gavrio.
“You’re an excellent friend Jerald, say hi to the Mrs for me.” Said Jack, tipping his hat and trotting into a nearby ally to read his paper. In about half an hour his favourite breakfast restaurant would open, and an hour after that he was supposed to attend a protest in front of the senate. Apparently it was a patriotism movement, trying to get Prothos to stake it’s own claim to the water temple. Jack was to take notes, as per usual, and see if they presented any legitimate threat. But for the next little while he would just be him and his paper.
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“Alright, lets break for lunch.” Said the speaker of the senate, as off in the distance the bells in the tower of the library rung for twelve. A wave of relief swept over Senator Graham, he was famished. He looked around the room, it was rather full. The people who sat there were the usual fourteen senators, each representing a district of Prothos, the speaker, a few individually concerned citizens, and an unusually large amount of protestors. Apparently this stupid patriotism thing was taking off. Anyone with half a brain in their head knew that Prothos couldn’t win this, even with the two cities weekend there was still no wall, and Graham was sure as hell that Scisilo would never allow the Senate to commission building one. Even if he did they lived in the middle of a field, around a lake. The other two cities were easily defendable, but Prothos was a sitting duck.
He feared walking outside, as only the protestors polite enough to follow the procedures were allowed inside the senate, who knows what manner of ruffians lurked beyond the walls. Even if he didn’t like it, he voted for the law. Citizens could be arrested for encouraging the war anywhere in the city, except in front of the castle and the senate, which were the two designated protest zones. At least they could defend themselves there. No one would say that the king stops people from voicing their opinions, and no one would be tricked by these idiots into staging a coup. He knew it was for the best, but he still despised having to deal with these people.
Nevertheless he walked through the agar double doors of the senate and walked with his colleges outward, people yelled and screamed at them as they passed, and the senators yelled generic things back at them. “This is not the right climate for a war!” “This will benefit the city in no way” “Look at what this did to Vit Mear and Topour, you would have to be ridiculously unpatriotic to wish this upon your home!” standard this and that. Graham bumped into a man in a brown cloak and feathered hat, taking something down on his note pad and holding a newspaper under his arm.
“Out of my way!” Said Graham, assuming him to be one of the war mongers that surrounded him. The man did as he was told.
“My apologies Senator Graham, I wouldn’t want to keep you. This is a big day for you after all.” Spoke the protestor. Big day? What on earth could that mean? Today was just standard stuff for him, except that he had a lunch meeting with some bankers that had sponsored his most recent re-election campaign. But what could he know of that?
Graham walked softly from his other senators, to the other side of the lake where he would meet his sponsors for lunch. Apparently they had some new direction they wanted to discuss with him. They gave him twenty thousand marks; the least he could do was throw them a bone every once in a while.
Arriving at the restaurant his coat was taken, and he was escorted to table six where he was met with three bankers, one whom he recognized as Mr. Lant. He was an old banker with a bit of a crooked nose, and didn’t smile often enough for Graham’s tastes, but he liked the old man nevertheless. He had a bit of a way with words. The other two men were a fair bit younger, but they both appeared to be Lant’s executive lackeys.
“So lovely to see you Senator, has your wife recovered from that cough yet?” Said Mr. Lant , looking up from his menu momentarily.
“Oh, she is doing excellently. The cleric you suggested really knew what he was doing.” Said Graham, picking up his own menu.
“Yes, those people are generally only good for open wounds, but Dr. Ron knows his alchemy far better than most. But you seem troubled, perhaps I shouldn’t keep you long. Would you like to jump right into it?”
“That would be desirable, there are so so many protestors today. A lot is on today’s docket.” Spoke Graham, coming a little more fatigued than he would liked to have.
“Fantastic, we need you to show a little bit of sympathy for Vit Mear, perhaps propose sending aid.” Spoke Lant, far more casually than the situation should have allowed.
“What? Why?” Said Graham, he didn’t really like either side of the conflict but Vit Mear did not need any aid. The war was in a bit of a stalemate at the moment.
“They have recently come into a great deal of wealth. A new gold vain has sprouted in one of their foothills. We feel that if they thought Prothos was sympathetic to them, they might choose this bank to hold it for them. You don’t have to outright encourage war, just tell them to consider sending some food or something, I don’t know. You’re the senator.” Said Lant, chuckling over the last few words. “It’s good for the Prothian economy. It’s not like we are actually going to help them win.”
“Alright, fine. If you are sure it won’t lead to Topour shying away from us.-” Said Grahm, as he was cut off.
“Shy away? My dear boy, as soon as we start to favour one side of the conflict the other side goes nuts trying to even things out. Topour will send more appeasements, not less.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll bring it up when I get the chance.” Said Graham, standing up. “Sorry to run, but I’ve another commitment.”
“Oh, think nothing of.” Said Mr. Lant. “I wouldn’t want you to be late.” He looked back down as a man leaned over from the next table and held a sack of coins over Mr. Lant’s open hand..
“Five thousand Marks, as promised.” Said the man, dropping the bag.
“Always a pleasure, Jack.”
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