Justice of Castricon

[Barsavis]

OOC Thread: http://roleplayerguild.com/showthrea...e-of-Castricon

The rain had come and saw its best to wash the filth from the streets of Castricon. However much the storm tried, the city could only be cleansed by reform. Thatched roofs drizzled and channeled the water sheet after sheet into the muddy streets. Lightning split the sky as the storm from the open ocean made port. A few stragglers braved the weather, hurrying to their homes or shelter.

A stain trickled down the streets, the remnants of the Viscount's forces. A few stragglers ran for it, leaving the decimated army. The blood trickled from the wounds of the men, most unconscious in the streets with the cold and rain comforting them. Armored knights, trained infantry and pike men were scattered in the streets. One foe stood in the darkness, paying no mind to the assault. It was powerful, strong, mighty, and held a sword like none other.

A servant entered the Viscount's study. The Viscount watched from the window into the dark city beyond. Lightning illuminated it for an instant, and he thought he saw it… a figure on a distant rooftop watching him. A secondary rumble rolled through the city, and it was gone.

"The contingent has been returned, lord… what's left of them. Four killed, 17 may or may not make it. They are in the infirmary now, a few missing, the remainder are wounded. Only a few cowards are unscathed," the servant seemed nervous and bowed as he explained. His hose complimented his slit sleeves and pointed shoes of rich blue. He dared not look at anything but those shoes.

"Thank you, paige," the viscount did not turn from the window, mesmerized by the storm. There was a certain epitome and parallel of the squall and the city… insanity. He was silent for some time, thinking.
---
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The paige waited, glancing through his bowl haircut to see if his master was going to do anything at all. "Is there anything you would have me do?"

This snapped the proud Viscount out of his trance. He glanced down his ornate tunic, vest, his puffy sleeves to the letter in his hand. Then he turned to spy the boy out of the corner of his eye. "I would have you find this foe, uproot them, find their plans, and dash them against the ground never to rise again. But you and I both know that such a request is infeasible. There is nothing more we can do. The situation is out of our hands. I will send yet another letter to the Marquis, and then see to our own. If the world is to burn we are forced to do nothing more than watch."

"I almost forgot, lord," the boy explained, "please be forgiving."

"My hand of forgiveness is extended long these days. I have been humbled. I can see the wisdom of living a small life and to strive for simple things. I can see that accidents and failure come upon the best." The Viscount's deep voice rolled through the room. Only the snap and pop of the warm fire broke the solemn silence. Then the thunder broke again.

The paige handed a small bouquet of dried flowers. Most were not in season, but that had not stopped the delivery. There was a base of Aconite, their purple blossoms, had shriveled to a near black. Their trumpets would have been crumbled by handling, but these had been coated with lacquer to make them stronger. White clover was pinned to a ribbon surrounding a clump of baby's breath and wormwood. Around the bouquet was a bright pink ribbon and an arrow's head. On the ribbon was scribed. A simple phrase, "Checkmate" He explained, "Ser Vallion had this pinned to his sercoat, after he was rendered unconscious."

The Viscount examined it a moment in confusion before a meaning broke through. He stood tall and powerful, the kind of persona that made his opponents in the Marquis court tremble and fear to oppose him. He tore out the baby's breath in rage before tossing it to the ground. His study of floriography allowed him to interpret it. "How dare you! Of all depravity! I shall see you toppled yet, you may think I am defeated but there is another play I can make that might sunder your pride and cut to your heart!"

It was the very next day that our heroes received a mysterious message. How or who delivered it remained a mystery. It was signed simply "L."

Do not be alarmed by the contents of this letter, or the means of which the information was collected. Your secret is safe by perhaps the most adept hands you have ever encountered. The city is in need of your help, or more specifically, (your heroe's name here)'s help.
I honor your efforts; however, at this time we must confess that they are only small scale successes. Crime is so high that for each one you stop four others proceed unhindered. It is time to make a more significant difference, but it will call for sacrifice. Are you willing to suffer for the sake of others? It may turn that way.

The Viscount of the southern portion of the city is one of the only trustworthy as well as capable people. He is approaching the toppling of his ability to protect the city and keep the peace. He must concede defeat unless something is done. Find a knight in his service by the name of Vallion in order to collect more information on opponents of your magnitude and how you can truly make a difference. Expect more than just information, you can expect assistance when you meet him. Vallion will be in the courtyard of the keep resting this evening. Be quick, collect the information on his latest troubles and be off before the servants suspect. Secrecy will keep you safe.

If you need to contact me within three days, wear a brown tie around your left arm. I will contact you again in the morning.
-L-

[Puffhead97]

Jayx stared at the small letter in his hand incredulously, wondering how it was delivered or what it meant. Needed his help? To fight crime? It seemed impossible. As much as he hated to admit it, people didnt exactly consider him a "hero". In fact, he was a criminal. Why else would he be living in the wastelands, outside of civilization. He only appeared when there was a major threat...them again, this seemed major. After grappling with the situation for hours, he made his decision. He would go.

[Arlear]

Richard Elwynn sat on a small rise in the Inn, leading those inside in song- A happy, feel good kind of song, accompanied by the cheery rippling of his guitar. The residents of the inn were tapping their feet and rapping their mugs on the table in keeping with the tune, and everyone was having a jolly good time.
Right up until the barkeep whistled and raised a letter- Addressed to Ricky. Ricky nodded, finishing out the song before packing his guitar away with apologetic bows of farewell to the inn, wandering over to nab his letter, and leaving the inn considerably less lively behind him.
Once firmly out of sight, he split the letter open and read. When he finished, he let a deep sigh escape him. If this person knew about his night life, they also knew about his abandoned identity as a Marquise- Which didn't please him.
And so saying, if for no other reason to ensure for himself that both identities were safe, he decided to go to this little meeting.

[Barsavis]

The early weather of fall had not struck this evening. The Viscount's castle was a dull roar, with people winding down to a busy day. The injured men had been tended in the infirmary, however, one demanded to be placed in the courtyard. Ser Vallion had a bubu on his pride, and he wanted solitude. The starlings made their mournful cries as the sun began lifting its golden blanket from the stone. The courtyard had mostly dried since the previous night, but the plant life was still flourishing from the life giving deluge. Every crag between paving stones had moss and grass happily sprouting, the ivy on the wall had taken the slightest tinge of red in some places in anticipation of winter, and even on the walls ant the trunks of the few trees photosynthesis was rearing to go.

Vallion was a knight, that much was obvious. He was built, and held himself invulnerable and unafraid of death. Such vestiges still clung to him although he wore a tunic and bandages on his shattered ribs and wrapped around a gash in his head. He peered into the evening with one good eye. Something seemed small, afraid, sad about him. The stink of medicinal concoctions clung to every inch of his body. His strength was gone, and with that gone what was he? Nothing, his spurs, sword, and armor amounted to trinkets of another man's life unless he recovered.

He didn't do anything, just sat and watched and waited and thought. It was not very productive or uplifting. No one joined him, occasionally a servant would pass through the courtyard on their business.

[Milan]

'Do you think that's him?'.
'I don't know, it's not like he has a banner reading "Vallion" in big gothic letters over his head'.
'Well, that's why I asked if you thought it was him. I wouldn't have needed to if there was such banner, geez'.
'Would you two please shut up and pay a little more attention? He's gonna give out a sign or something and we'll miss it because of your rambling'.
'Dios mío yo no sé ni qué hago aquí'.
'English, Teresa, for god's sake'.
This conversation was going on inside the head of a little squirrel, munching on a nut, and keeping watch on the wounded knight resting outside from over a three. The little animal had unusually bright red fur covering its tiny body, and its fluffy tail moved once in a while.
Well, to be honest, it wasn't actually a little animal. I'd say it was actually a woman looking like a little animal, but one could not say that of this being anymore. She was known to the few who knew her or who had heard of her, as the "Shape Witch".
The letter had gotten to her hands only a few hours ago, and she had decided to go over to the meeting point as soon as possible. Why? Well, Penelope was specially curious on what kind of person would consider her a heroine. Abigail wanted to know what kind of moron would consider her a heroine. Mary was thrilled about the mysterious and fancy invitation. And well, no one was too sure about what Teresa thought of all this, but they considered the rules of democracy, and decided to follow the will of the majority, and assist.
'Uhm, maybe he's waiting for us to approach him? Should we go there stealthily?'.
'JUST ATTACK THE MOTHERFUC-'.
'Ignore the Hulk over there, go ahead Penelope'.
'No podemos mejor ir a comer algo? Me parece que vi una linda INN en el camino con canciones y-'.
'ENGLISH'.