(Minibit) Forgotten Feanor (Soulhallow)

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Minibit, May 16, 2014.

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  1. @Soulhallow

    Thunder boomed across the night sky, the only sound in the last three hours to drown out the roar of rainfall on cobble streets. Garland stuck one arm out of his oil-slicked coat to hold his hat on against the wind. There was a small leather strap hanging by his neck for such a purpose, but he'd rather get his hand wet than be strangled by his own hat. It was a relief to step out of the storm and into the warmth of the Broken Arrow Pub; a tiny little dive just close enough to the docks to serve fresh fish slathered in old grease, but too far from the actual moors to draw very much traffic. Tonight, it looked like there was only one old man, drunk off his gourd and nodding off by the stone-brick fireplace, and the wiry, leather-skinned owner; McCarthy, an old man with coarse, permanently tousled hair that looked like cords of scrap iron. He gave Garland a look of recognition expressed mostly by the slight raise of two bushy eyebrows as he took off his hat and shook the rain off his coat. "Good evening, grandfather; nasty night out there."

    "You don't have to tell me." McCarthy muttered; leaning back on the bar and speaking around the bit of wood he was chewing on. Garland silently wondered how many teeth the old man had left to chew with. "How's your dog?" he asked, scraping the mud off his boots before stepping farther into the pub.

    "Little better - you can visit him if'n y'want" McCarthy jerked a thumb toward the door behind the bar which led to the store-room and cellar. There was also an exit into the alley where a rickety flight of steps led up to a small apartment McCarthy shared with his old woman. Garland had never climbed those steps, but he guessed it couldn't be in much better condition than the splintered, beer-stained facility downstairs. The door creaked as Garland let himself into the store-room, and lifted the heavy floor-door into the cellar. Torchlight shone up at him as he descended the stairs, hat under his arm and still dripping rainwater from both the hat and his cloak. The stairs turned as he descended them, and he knocked sharply six times on the far wall, and waited.

    A moment later, the wall pulled away from him, revealing an annex where the murmur of people filled the room. He kept his cloak on as he entered, the place was heated only by the one torch on each of the four walls, and the body heat of the people inside. There were three benches set in rows, with a larger space at one end of the room. The floor was earth, the walls mostly cut clay as well, though supported by planks of timber. It was new, not part of the original structure. Its position set the room directly under the bar area of the Broken Arrow. McCarthy could simply stomp two times - or drop an iron pot; Garland wondered if the man had enough total body weight to manage a resounding stomp - to alert those below to extinguish the lights and be silent. Garland gave a casual bow to Stryker, the leader of their little chapter. Well, the leader in name at least. It had been McCarthy's idea to dig the annex in his cellar, and McCarthy who came up with the security system and added the hidden door, even if Stryker had been the one to spread the Resistance from the Feanor's mainland to the little island of Alma. Garland had been unconvinced at its importance at first, but when the Mallovian armies started marching across even Alma, he changed his mind. Tonight, someone from one of the mainland chapters was visiting; looking for participants on a mission that was supposed to be of utmost importance. Hell, if it could even dent the iron grip Mallov held this country in, he'd get behind it.
     
  2. Ivy wrapped the scarf hanging around her neck tighter, hoping it would keep the wind out and her body heat in. The rain slowly beginning to soak through her outer attire, she hadn't been expecting rain and of course wasn't prepared for it as usual. Every step she took over the cobbled path incited water to drip from her dreads onto her shoulders, the walk seeming so much longer now that she was almost here. She saw the name of the pub a few moments later; The Broken Arrow Pub, a small place by her standards, but the perfect place for a rebellion to rage on. Ivy opened the door and stepped through, hoping she wasn't about to be bombarded with questions regarding the mainland.

    The pub had quite a homely look to it she observed, small, but quaint and rather satisfying. The stone-brick fireplace int he corner hummed with life, warming the interior with its temperate flames. Just enough to chase off the dreary chill of the rain from outside, but not so hot as to deter customers from sticking around and buying another round of drinks. The room looked empty except for the stranger passed out by the fireplace, and of course the owner behind the counter. He had been cleaning glasses when she walked in, and had only stopped for a moment to see who it was, before resuming his cleaning activities. His demeanor that of a man who doesn't want his time wasted, unless you were going to buy a drink.

    'That must be McCarthy, the directions said to speak to him about telling a rebellious story and the rest would be taken care of' Ivy thought to herself as she walked to the bar counter with an average gait. She reached the counter and pulled up a stool, waiting for him to finish cleaning the glass.It was generally best in her opinion to wait and be patient, rather than be rude and interrupt, the bartender would acknowledge you when he was ready. The man set down the glass and turned towards her, "What can I getcha' sweet'art" he asked with an interesting accent.

    "A mug of your strongest ale, as well as a seat from which I may tell a rebellious story tonight," She answered confidently. She leaned on the counter, waiting for the recognition in the mans eyes, but nothing changed at all. He filled up a mug with what looked like some very thick ale and plunked it down in front of her, "Finish that then we'll get to your storytelling," He said without any hesitation. As if this were common to him, the calm and unwavering attitude making it look as if nothing was going on behind the scenes.
     
  3. Glancing around, Garland found that most of the island's chapter was already present. He chose a seat on one of the crude wooden benches, nodding in appreciation as a younger, blond man slid over to make room. He laid the wide hat in his hand, bending the brim with one hand to allow the rainwater to dribble off onto the clay floor, making a small pool of mud. He stirred it with the toe of his boot, marking the present faces that he recognized in his head, but focusing most of his attention on Stryker, who seemed to be trying to hush the casual chatter into something resembling order.
     
  4. Ivy finished her drink, and then looked towards the wore looking face of the bartender. He nodded his head in agreement, and left from behind the counter motioning with his hand for her to follow in his steps as he went into the store-room. The man bent down and pulled open the heavy floor-door of the cellar and descended into the darkness, the torchlight above the only source of light in the room they were walking into. Ivy looked about and saw nothing but store supplies that every bar had in their cellar, although each differed a little, most generally it was all the same products. Nevertheless she continued to fallow in his wake, coming to a stop when he stopped at the far wall. She gave him a queer look as if to say, What are you doing, but still waited for whatever was going to happen.

    He rapped soundly on the wall six times, then waited a moment. The wall pulled away, revealing a multitude of people in an good sized room that was out of the way, and very handy with having this meting she was here for. Ivy strode through the wall entrance, watching as everyone's gaze slowly turned to her, the room suddenly a lot more quiet than it had been before.
     
  5. ((Just a tip from those of us who use the light styles))

    The murmur of the room died as the door opened again, and McCarthy showed in an unfamiliar face. The older man turned around and left - closing the door behind him - as soon as the woman was inside, and Garland from his seat could hear the muffled creaking of his boots on the stairs back up.

    He watched as the visitor approached the front of the room where Stryker stood to welcome her. Having not participated in the conversation much, he simply kept his mouth shut as he waited for her to speak. They'd been anticipating this meeting for weeks; a representative of the mainland chapters - come with news about a way to beat back the invaders. He kept his eyes trained on the guest.
     
  6. ((Ouch never noticed that, I was wondering why It was so bright. Also sorry for the post being kind of short, wasn't able to think of much else at the moment))

    Ivy approached the front of the room, and the man she assumed to be Stryker. The eyes around her watching in silence, not much murmuring to be heard with her appearance. "Hello Stryker, nice to see finally the face behind the messages asking me to come down and speak, is everyone accounted for?" She asked, taking a look around the room and noting faces around her. "I would hate to have to retell my tale more than once tonight" her face showing how tired she was despite being quite young and fit, the journey from the mainland had taken it out of her.
     
  7. Garland continued to sit and wait, drumming his calloused fingers against the upper sleeve of his slowly drying jacket. He took in the visitor in one glance. Travel-worn, but a hardy-looking female.

    Stryker's eyebrows knitted together at the question - she hadn't even bothered to lower her voice - was she insinuating he didn't know the attendance of his own chapter? Or that his chapter wasn't sharp enough to get to a meeting they'd been anticipating for weeks on time? He had to concentrate to keep the offense from leaking into his voice. "Everyone is ready and waiting, Miss."
     
  8. "Sorry to ask" she murmured to him. Ivy turned to face the rest of the room, the people before her had ceased to speak, and were attentively waiting to hear what she had to say. "Alright before we start this folktale tonight, we are all here to do one thing correct? To beat and throw out the intruding mages taking over your very homeland, but to do that we need something to combat the mages. Since you have no mages of your own, you must either convert a mage of their chapter or try t learn magic yourselves. As we know both of those are quite improbable, this leads me to my folktale I have come to tell tonight," she said, taking a seat cross-legged in front of everyone. She motioned for everyone to gather around, it was a storytelling after all, albeit quite a real folktale though.
     
  9. Those who were already seated on the front two benches, fairly near the speaker, stayed where they were, but those standing along the walls or in the bag raised themselves up and took up spots either on those benches, or near the walls closer to the lady. The floor - being earth except for the raised wood area where she sat - was not especially desirable to sit on. Garland, for his part, had chosen a spot near the back, and his stony expression turned to a frown for a second as he shrugged out of his seat and stepped quietly toward the front, eyeing the available space as he approached. He didn't like to ask someone to move, and he didn't like to share personal space, either. He came to a stop behind the second row, near the end, and decided to stand, a pace back from the bench so that he wouldn't be looming over the men sitting there. Shuffling one boot in the dirt to move a stone that could become troublesome, he prepared to stand through the story, and redirected his eyes to the visitor, directing all his attention to her. It was true, at this rate he'd take any option that would drive the mages out of Feanor. It was also true that he'd been rather apathetic towards the conflict on the mainland, but now mages had landed on Alma, and imposed their laws and domination over its citizens; suppressing trade, imposing curfews and tax upon tax, law upon law against disrespecting Mages, attempting Magic, carrying weapons, walking too close to a guard, practicing combat skills, having a militia, placing decorations, leaving the island, and anything else profitable, practical, or enjoyable. The whole island was ready to do anything to throw them out and have their lives back, it was a shame there were maybe twenty or thirty people in the room actually willing to risk themselves to do it.
     
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