Spoopy Scary

Knights of Melarus

_{featuring Kane's Guard}

---

Kane and his troop were discussing matters and plans of action following the round-up of the wights, beside the statue of King Victor of House Draco, which was bent over, out of its original position. He, and the G-2 guardsmen Sten Vellen, Alexander Xerxes, and Oscar Gene – Kane’s once squire, John March, was already off establishing safe zones throughout the city prior to their arrival here in the square. The situation looked bleak, despite the hope Kane sought to instill in the city’s people.

“First and foremost,” Oscar offered, “we have to make sure that the citizens here are out of immediate danger. Victor has got plenty of his own personal guardsmen to keep his precious castle safe, we needn’t waste our time with that.”

“I agree,” said Sten, “I think we should just keep doing what we’ve been doing. We can’t kill them or force them out of the city, chaining them together in place seems like it’s the best precautionary measure.”

Kane heard his men, but he still looked solemn, pinching the skin at the bottom of his chin in thought. “It seems so,” he said, “but I still worry. The king and the knights are so full of pride that they cannot see this situation has fallen out of our hands. The people need a full-scale evacuation. It should have happened before things ever got this bad.”

“If we hurry, we might still have a chance.” Alexander proposed.

“Perhaps, Alex,” Kane muttered as he looked back up, “perhaps... but it never should have been left up to chance.”

That familiar chiming tone, that wretched, stomach-churning bawling of the head knight himself – Sir Fallon came riding up, making a fool of the knights with all of his honeyed words of his love for the Child King, his cries for victory was a presumptive, childish assay at pleasing the crowds. As practiced as he may be, he was but a hollow man. It was a wonder that Kane was unable to see through him until only three months ago.

Fallon had ordered his men, the Knights of the Ram, to put their shields up and renew the charge to push the wights out of Maceron’s gates. Kane’s eyes lit up, and shot his hand forward – “Wait, don’t!”

But alas, it was too late for him to object to Sir Fallon’s commands. The Ram listened not to a disgraced knight, only to their great leader, for clearly, Sir Fallon was an infallible tactician. For look how gracefully he would ignore assessment and order the very actions that had failed prior times before! So full of pride was he, he would attempt the most hopeful remedy where so many had failed before him... right from where he sat before, upon his horse, wishing not to get his hands dirty.

Like the many times before, the knights with their shields up, with all their attempts at pushing out some of the loose wights outside of the city, they were soon being overpowered by the skeletal abominations. Some men were trampled beneath their feet, others scrambled for safety. Kane watched as that naïve hope from Sir Fallon’s eyes flicker away as his precious plan had crumbled before him. But his pride was as such, that he wouldn’t let his own visage of nobility be tarnished, nay, he wouldn’t deliver the truth to the deserving citizens. He would have it so that they lived ignorantly beneath incapable rule at the face of inescapable odds. If there was ever a parallel to Maceron’s corruption, there was none closer than the metaphor taking place now. Kane felt his temper flare as Fallon ordered his knights to round up the citizens and escort them to their homes – as if that was the safest place they could be. He turned to his own men, who noticed his angered expression immediately.

“Men, be on standby for now, help the people if you can. I’ll see if I can’t have a talk with Sir Fallon.”

They nodded and watched Kane march towards the Ram’s headmaster as he dropped from his horse.

“Sir Headmaster Fallon!” Kane called, a fist pressed to his chest in salute, and a bow of his head – disgraceful that he should have to honor a man such as he – he continued forward, lifting his head back up and dug his eyes into Fallon’s.

“With all due respect,” Kane said with a sharp tone, “their homes are not the safest place to be. We should be issuing a full-scale evacuation! We cannot contain this many wights!”

Meanwhile, Kane’s men were either watching what was developing or keeping an eye on the surrounding area, or taking care of the people – assuaging their fears, advice, whatever they could do. After Oscar, the curly red-haired knight decked in particularly heavy armor, looked to be in his mid thirties, took to bringing an old woman’s belongings to her home, bore witness to an exchange before a foreign Dorak and one of the Ram’s knights. The knight, while not laying a hand on them, did not handle the situation Oscar felt was accordingly. The Ram knights were a proud lot – Oscar was no exception to that rule, neither was the rest of Kane’s Guard, they worked very hard to get to their positions – but they didn’t let it blind them like many of the Ram did. Oscar stepped forward, addressing the knight that had bickered with the Dorak.

“Good knight,” he called, prepared to handle this as tactfully possible, “as capable as we may all be, this is not a problem that the Knights can handle alone. Talbor is strongest when we all work together!”

Oscar finished his plea upon the knight on the happiest of notes, throwing his arms out and a great grin on his face. The knight, howe’er, turned about and looked upon Oscar’s face with an insulted look, measuring the red haired man up and down.

“I need not the counsel of a traitor,” the Knight declared, “haven’t you kittens to be saving from trees? The real knights will take it from here.”

Oscar’s smile dimmed, but in Oscar’s classic style, he did not let the knight ruin his optimism. There was an unspoken acknowledgement among the troop that Oscar’s only expressions were varying degrees of smiles, but each with their own smile. A faint smile in the face of injury would be akin to something along the lines of an ill wish upon their well-being, but nothing so severe. Rather, “I hope you drink sour milk.” He turned to face one of the newcomers in town, the Dorak that had gotten into that mishap with the knight just before. He met him with a wider smile, and nodded his head with his fist pressed to his chest.

“I’m sorry for the lack of warm welcome, newcomer. As you can... clearly tell, we’re in something of a crisis.” Oscar said, shrugging. “Sir Gavin is also kind of a dick, but what can you do? I’m Sir Oscar... Ah, guh! Just Oscar now, I’m sorry! Old habits die hard, eh?”

Knights of Melarus

Hit me up if any of you have any ideas and want to write with one of my characters.

Knights of Melarus

Kane's thoughts

"I have heard of Pietro Machelli. The count's son who took up the sword, the only trainee to refuse the Ram's offer of knighthood in generations? He's very skilled in swordplay, even making it an art. If only he had taken up the sword for a purpose more noble than riches and bedding women. He's a vulgar man, and I do not like his predisposition for arrogance, but he's a harmless sort and I can withstand arrogance. There's plenty of it found in courts, at least this swordmaster has practicality.

The others do not seem to take kindly to the young fairfolk, but I believe that stems from misunderstands. I can appreciate a prodigal student, and Anna is certainly making her way. What people forget is that fae age slower than the rest of us. They forget that Anna is still a young girl and has already been elected into prestige and has inherited generations of knowledge. Dealing with Anna is a matter of patience.

Theresa is a good lass, and she means well. She has done well to travel Tithe and survive its wilds, and her field of work is a noble calling: protecting villages and hamlets from vicious and terrorizing beasts and monsters? That's no knight, but she takes a knight's heart and marries it with thrill-seeking and adventure. I hope she finds her way.

Ben, I... I have nothing. As long as he doesn't hurt anyone, I think we'll be okay. I sympathize with him.

I think I've only seen a Dorak once before, and that was a merchant. Not in the sense that I'm unworldly or isolated, but... the Dorak tend to keep to themselves. They hardly leave their homeland, and when they do, it's not usually Tablor they go to. This climate isn't befitting of them, and I'm really wondering what brought Karkadin here.

Now, the gnome is a peculiar sort, doesn't seem to fully grasp human customs and culture, but I can tell he means well enough. He even helped to contain some of the wights with a powerful enchantment on the square's statue. He's a humble sort, I don't think he intends on telling me everything, or what kind of power he might hold... but as long as he's harmless, abides by the law, and continues to help like he did, I won't treat it as a matter that concerns me. He smells peculiar. Like bad taste masked with flowers. It could just be an alchemist thing.

The other faefolk, this Arya, born right in the wealthiest of the bunch, tracked right into the path of the Order of Mordane, given divine blood, trained in it - she's a lucky one, I wonder if she's aware of this... but she's a knight like me, yes? Rather, I was - but we both have duties to fulfill. They may not be the same, but we both do what we can to make Tithe safer. I may hold to higher scrutiny than the others, having gone through similar disciplinary courses, or so I would imagine.

But what do I have to say about Silvertongue? Shux is a bard, a good bard, but he reminds me all too much of the sort of politicians and nobles in Maceron. He would fit right in with the court, and the last thing I need is any more presences of corruption here. There's one good thing about this March of the Dead: it keeps everyone's heads screwed on right. If only they could stay that way.

Kathleen, on the other hand, does much less talking. An interesting sort, a curious soul, and a pretty face - if she's any good with that crossbow, I wonder how she'd pair with Sten. But one thing that keeps bugging me is... what are those bulges on her back beneath her cloak?

I know Sir Agathon. A commander knight like I once was. He was one of the few in the order who gave a damn like I did, and I regret that he wasn't one of knights I chose to contact first before my demotion. Although I'm not sure how he would have reacted - he holds no love for nobility, but he isn't that outspoken about it, more passive. Now that I think about it, I get the impression he'd just let things run the way they are and wait for something good to happen. That'd be a shame. Good things don't happen when we wait for them to come to us.

I know plenty like Vyri, the sort of downtrodden abused by nobility, the very ones I've made a name for protecting. She seems haunted by something, I do not know what though. It saddens me that there aren't any other guardians outside of Talbor. All of Tithe needs to look out for our weakest."

Wizzlebee's thoughts

"Pietro Machelli? Who's that? Him, you're pointing at him? Oooooh, okay. Now I get what all the fuss is about. You see, I've been staring at him for the past ten minutes. If he's as good with a sword as they say he is, I would bet he's good with his hands, too.

Anna! Anna, Anna, Anna! A faefolk apothecary, no doubt has plenty of little bitty faefolk potion secrets to share, but oohh, I bet I could teach her a thing or two, yes sir-ee! I too have plenty-plenty little bitty potion secrets, and some plenty-plenty little bitty gnomish potion secrets! I'm full of secrets! Aha! And if she finds out, well, I guess that'd be a shame! Because fae wings are supposed to be valuable ingredients! I'm only joking of course, gnomish humor. Don't tell Kane I said that.

I like the monster hunter, her head is a refreshing shade of red, soothes the eyes. Oh, but she's also a monster hunter! I should ask her to bring back some monster parts after her hunts, I could get soooo many different kinds of potions, it'll be unreal! Maybe something to make that crossbow holding knight-man's head red, too, that platinum color is a - whoo - a real strain on the eyes.

On Karkadin: what in blazes is that? Is it sentient? Those face-worms looks like they might be useful for something... oh, I meant in a potion. I can't see any possible use for actually wearing it.

Kandy Kane sure triggers that sweet tooth, can talk up an old gnome plenty nice! I think he likes me you know? But as big and strong and handsome and blonde as he is - and, oh, noble - it's a shame I cannot take the sweet man up. You see, I'm saving myself for Pietro. Besides, what if that noble knight-man found out about my necromancy? I just don't think it would work out well at all. Pappy agrees.

The tall lizard boy was victim to who? Grendle? Grindle? Grundle? Whatever, some witch, she can't be so bad. But bad enough to turn him into a lizard boy! I think I'll help him out, yes? Maybe I can make that Anna girl my assistant and we can investigate cures for this magical ailment. I wonder if aether would be useful here too...

Anyways, Arya is a wizard knight-girl! That doesn't make any sense. What? Fire and stone. Or was it stone and fire? Oh, that's fine I guess, throwing rocks around, making things hots. But I bet she can't raise the dead or talk to spirits. Oh, oh my, is this my wizard pride? I didn't think I'd be so competitive! Oooh, competition. Now that'd be an interesting one. I still have, what? Maybe... forty years on her? Plenty, plenty. Okay, I'm confident again.

And the satyr, I love the satyr! I love music! What a fun little lad, likes money, I don't get that, but I like music and that's all that matters! He can have the useless "drune" stuff if he wants it, I don't need it, I... wait, I do need it. For everything. Why am I giving him this stuff for music?! That's not fair! Darnest outside customs!

The, the, the... girl? Woman? I guess she's a lady human, doesn't seem so spectacular. A little shy, I guess...? I just wonder what kind of stuff she's carrying under her cloak. Eh, bygones. Bygones!

The other knight-man, the bigger one, the heavier one - the hairier one. Walks like I do a wee bit, gives all a pouty face, but I hear he's alright, plenty so! If a wee sad, can't see why, he's working with strapping men a'plenty! Something goes wrong, I'll hide behind him... after Pietro.

Vyri is okay, I don't notice her much but she has a nice little ring with an incredible little secret inside. Paps tells me I shouldn't waste my time with that 'arrogant and evil ogre flank', whatever that means, something about spirits and conversations, but I stopped listening.. because ooooh, couldn't I learn a bit about that little guy in that little thing..."

Knights of Melarus

_and

_{featuring (G-2), Kane's Guard}

---

“Chains!”

“Good, John, we have them! Now let’s round them up – Sten, you get one end and I’ll get the other, Oscar and Alexander, cut around the sides, push in any stragglers.”

“Aye, Cap’n! Wrap that nice and tight!”

The orc and red-haired guard pushed in some of the stubborn wights outside their range, straight into a great mass of wights that was being held up by the guardsmen. All the while, Kane and Sten took the chain and tightly wrapped a long iron chain around the mob twice over. When the two men came to meet, Kane grabbed the other end of the chain and pulled it as tight as he could, and Sten hastily clasped a set of cuffs through some of the loops and secured it in place. Kane stepped back and took a deep breath. That made two mobs of wights secured. There were still dozens more, and at this rate, it felt as though Maceron would be totally overrun! Damn it, where was Captain Orthur Dorkin when you needed him to get off of his ass?

“Captain,” began Sten Vellen as he approached Kane, “John told me there’s another mob like this one forming around the city square again, and the guard is struggling to keep them contained.”

“Let’s hurry then.” Kane said, then looking to young John. “We need to have quarantined areas, places where there aren’t already wights and chain them off so that the people can have safe places to be in case these wights turn aggressive.”

“Yes sir!” John agreed, and then he ran off to the barrack to retrieve more chains, and to begin the mission given to him. The other men hurried the other way toward the town square, sweat dripping from their brows.

The square was something else – apparently the time between the report and actually getting there was enough to let their numbers multiply to absurdity. Overlooked by the king’s tower, all around the statue of his Majesty, the famed G-2 guardsmen of Maceron made awed glances at one another. The sheer amount of wights swallowing this place was unbelievable. The wights walking through the gates still coming, but now at lower pace, and the March looked as though it would soon be coming to a close. Kane dreaded to see what would happen when it finally did. Kane signaled his men, pointing toward the others guardsmen, and they nodded understandingly. It was he and Alexander now, the latter carrying a particularly long and girthy chain wrapped around his shoulder.

“Let’s get to work then!” The half-orc declared.

It was the same practice, stretching out the chain as far as it would go, with one man at one end of the mob and the other at the other end. The two started pulling the chain around it, but there was one problem...

This was a lot of wights. The sheer weight of all the bones, and the resistance they made, still insisting on walking as they wrapped them made it a struggle to contain the mob. With the other two ex-knights finally returning with a squad of other guardsmen the began helping by grabbing onto the chains and heaving as they fought to contain the stubborn horde of undead. With each tug, they yelled.

“HEAVE!”

“HO!”

“HEAVE!”

“HO!”

Drawing quite a crowd from the by standing citizens who didn’t feel so threatened by The March with all the guardsmen around them. All the men around the mob, as many as they were, still struggled to tighten them close together. As the chain started wrapping around the other side, one thing became apparent:

“Someone find another chain!”

This one was too short, and could not even clasp around with one round around the wights. One good citizen made a run for the forge, bringing in tow the forge’s own smith as he helped the other man carry an even longer chain. With one hook end secured in some chain links, they managed to get one wrap around the wight mob. But with one as big as this, they’re going to need to revolve around a few more times. The struggle ensued, and this time, the good citizen and the smithy joined in pulling the chain around the wights... this act of good will and solidarity was enough to inspire some of the other citizens to aid. Men and women once watching joined in helping G-2 and their neighbors in restraining the massive mob of wights. Eventually running short on chains again, some more people went out to fetch more.

The mob was growing restless, and fought against their confinements. Restraining the wights became even more difficult, links escaping from some of the citizen’s grasp. Kane made note of this – it was not a good sign. When the third round of chains was delivered, it felt as though they were at a last stand. The wights were pushing against the people, and the people were fighting with the guardsmen to keep them in check. It was a stalemate. The statue of King Victor of Draco flashed purple for just a moment, capturing the rapt attention of the people around them. Kane’s eyes were suddenly trained on it – had his eyes deceived him? Was this too much stress? Surely not, Kane had gone through harder than this before!

But it was no such illusion or tricks of the mind. Dust fell off of the statue as it rumbled, and its limbs began moving. Though its feet secured firmly to a pedestal on the ground, the statue could bend its knees and hunker over, grabbing the chains that the people were pulling on – causing the people standing there to flee from fear – but did nothing to hurt any of the people, only tightly pulling the chains, causing some of the men and women to slide across the ground, then let go of the chain before their fingers were caught between them. The statue kept a tight, firm grip, and a dense mob of skeletal wights was confined into a smaller circle. The knights hurried to lock the chains there. The giant statue took its hands back, and sat there, squatting, and looking down on the mob and on the people. There, it seemed to stay.

Amidst the whispering of the wights, all was silent. Everyone was wondering what had happened until a strained wheezing and deep panting broke out from one end of the square. Kane turned to see an old gnome trying to catch his breath in the comfort of his own carriage seat. Gnomish enchantment – he should have known! The silence broke and turned into thunderous cheering, the people slapping each other on the backs on a job well done. Even the guardsmen breaking smiles and grabbing each other’s shoulders. Kane was no exception to this, but he knew that the job wasn’t over yet.

“Great job, everyone!” Kane announced proudly. “This is why everybody knows that you don’t mess with Maceron! If its soldiers and guard don’t get you, its people will!”

Another thunderous round of celebration.

“But our job is not over yet,” Kane continued, “and it won’t be done until we round up every single one of these blasted things and build a pyre so big that even the Icemen will feel its heat!”

The spirits and motivation of the people around the square were bolstered, and most of everyone around went back to work, inspired to do more to contain the wight situation. Kane took the opportunity to shake the hands with all those who had helped and hadn’t immediately gone off to do more work. A couple moments and words of praise went to the first man to step up and the nearby forge’s smith. Giving them his thanks, he walked toward the carriage that was cradled in the corner. The elderly gnome, seeing Kane coming, hit his wooden bench a with the bottom of his fist a couple times and met Kane with a great grin.

“That was very impressive what you did,” Kane complimented, then bowing his head with his fist pressed to his chest, “I am grateful for your help.”

“Oh, that was nothing!” The gnome insisted. The gnome took another deep breath. “That was just... probably one of the biggest enchantments I’ve ever... had to make... phew! That king fellow sure likes his statues big!”

Kane gave him a light-hearted chuckle, “There is more where that came from. I am Captain Kane Bounevialle, of the G-2 guard. What’s your name, my friend? You’ve picked quite a time to travel abroad.”

“Wizzlebee de LaShtüp, good sir!” The gnome introduced.

“Of the noble gnome house?” Kane inquired. “I thought that house had died off with no heirs to its name.”

A kicking sounded came from inside the carriage, but Wizzlebee pretended he didn’t notice it. “Oh yes, yes,” he said, “I’m the last. Also, estranged and extricated, but technicalities! They didn’t like me going on my own, I was never, ah, interested in that noble poppycock!”

“I understand,” Kane agreed, “more interested in wizardry, yes?”

“Oh, I’m only two-bit,” Wizzlebee claimed humbly, “in truth, I am an alchemist.”

“That was still quite some enchantment you’ve pulled from your hat.”

“I am wearing no hat!” Wizzlebee declared in defense.

“It’s, ah... a human figure of speech.” Kane reassured.

“Harumph! I would hope so!” The gnome responded. His tone then took a lighter turn. “But yes, yes, yes! Dire times of need brings people together, do they not? Guess I was... inspired. Yes, yes! Inspired to do the right thing! Hmph!”

“I’m glad to have you here.” Kane said with a smile, then parted ways with the gnome. The gnome waved back jovially and waited a couple moments for him to walk far away enough. He watched Kane discuss whatever matters he had on his mind with his men, then Wizzlebee turned back around and peered his head over the back of his seat.

“Sorry about that, paps, now what were you saying?”

Skeletal fingertips pulled over wool coverings, revealing a skull peering back up curiously at the old gnome.

“I asked how you were expecting to get wight marrow from those bones if wights naturally reassemble themselves. You’d get a whole beasty right on your lap!”

“I did say I would figure it out, paps! Aether has proven itself plenty useful plenty times in the past, I’m sure it can manage one other thing...”

“You and that damn ancient magic,” Bartleby sighed, “it’ll be the death of you, you know!”

“I’m close enough on its edge already, paps.” The gnome admitted. “Who’s to say that aether will be the final nail in the coffin?”

“Just remember that there’s no one around to raise you like you did me. I’m gonna get all bored, walk around, and then get dismembered by evangelical zealots praising whatever dumb god they worship.”

“But death is not the end.” Wizzlebee finished, slumping down with just a bliss smile on his face. He thought he knew that better than anyone.

Knights of Melarus

While the opening post is being made, here's a little game for everyone to enjoy in the meantime - a GM in another roleplay did this, and it was a lot of fun:

Let's assume that everyone's characters have already met once before. Through the perspective of your character, what do they think of the others?

Knights of Melarus

The character herself seems fine, but you were right about the mount being absurd. I'd call for a vote, I'm not sure if I could accept Thel with a clear conscience. Were the dire wolves not good enough? That's something I think I could accept.

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

If @Hankcan delete posts then he can go ahead and do that.

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

Ooooo, right. Used to smaller groups, pardon me.

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

Another phone post. Woo, it might feel... well, not good, or particularly insightful. These night shifts are killing me.

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

Finch picked up his pace, now that the others appeared to have decided now was the time to go. Blood-Red Brynn, his name was. Certainly, the same name he had heard from the local rumors. The bandit chief who was back stabbed by his own crew. He seemed an amiable sort, or so that's how he conducted himself. Finch still didn't trust him. For all he knew, Brynn would turn around and kill this lot in their sleep. But he seemed to view this as a genuine job - perhaps he needn't worry. Not now, at least.

His pace was quicker than the others, just from habit. What he lacked in long legs was quick feet. The crossbow was set on his shoulder, the butt and rucksack in front of him. He balled up the clean clothes and stuffed it in the sack, tying it shut again. He had a plan in mind for it, he didn't want to put it on just yet... although, actually, he desperately wanted to.

Now, Cedric, as the one Reachman introduced himself as, was an ass.

That's it.

His size didn't seem so scary when he starts talking, because you're too busy wondering what that sword-on-grindstone cringe tier of a voice he has would sound like when choking on his own teeth. Not that Finch thought he was capable of that... but it was fun to imagine.

"They're not around every corner, I wouldn't think... lest it's the emperor's tower." Finch refuted. "And we only need in their dungeon, and sometimes the entrance is someplace outside the main doors... just punch the elf, I guess."

Finch paused and looked around, anticipating their stares. Here he was, this beggar, talking as though he knows better. Surely an affront on anyone's ego, but dammit, Finch had his own life to save! This Reachman's pride didn't matter!

"I..." Finch started to explain himself. He sighed in resignation. "I... used to hang around some of those spots. Fantasized a bit over the stolen possessions box, ways to get in... but I had never actually done a heist, or... something like this before."

Finch swallowed a nervous lump in his throat. The realization of the sort of people surrounding him once again striking him. He immediately became self-conscious.

"My... my name's Finch - I- I mean my last name, but, ah... I can go in and out of places quickly. It's easy when nobody notices you."