Darren listened to Thibadeau's explanation whilst nodding his head in agreement to most of what the swamp-man was saying, except the non-religious parts. He re-entered the conversation once Thibadeau had finished his speech.
"I'm not a father... though I hope to be one someday... you're right though that no-one should care solely about themselves. Us men, the creatures that live in forest, even the flowing water of rivers are all a part of nature, all kin in a sense to each other. Claudio, whilst you may be blind to the divine bond you have with the world I can assure you that one day you will see the error of your ways and by then it may well be too late. My people say that a truly good person's spirit will be transformed to be in complete harmony with Mother Sun and Father Moon, whereas someone who hasn't learnt the truth is destined to be either repeatedly reborn or trapped as a ghost on Earth until they finally realise what their real purpose is. Then again, if you are truly as old as you claim you are, perhaps you already are a lost ghost and you simply don't know it yet?"
The Host returned his attention to the campfire and his guests, the odd presence within the darkness slowly ebbing away. His calloused hand still gripped his rubberwood bow tightly, knuckles whitening from the pressure. Seeing his guests philosophising about life and death, moral choices and divine judgements made him smile; his tense and uncertain mood washed away under the amicable conversations flowing freely, twisting shapes of ideas wisping around like smoke from the fire.
Sighing in contentment, The Host responded to something that caught his ear from Thibedeau's speech. "You're right about us folk not bein' entitled to paradise. We gotta earn it by the things that we do, the things that we say." Almost without any pause, The Host switches to the other conversation between Sai'if and Shannow"The God's know enough, Soul Watcher...They know enough." The Host says the last three words in almost a whisper, his voice crackling like the firewood. He glances up momentarily, fire-lit eyes watching Sai'if's face, possibly watching the Soul Watcher's very own soul. "They know far more than anyone here can possibly imagine." Afterwards, he just stares into the flames, eyes glowing yellow in the fire's light.
Suddenly, the darkness screamed out to The Host again, more urgent than before. Whatever was out there it needed to be investigated. The Host jumped to his feet, gathering up his quiver of arrows in the same fluid movement, and eyed each of his guests warily as they turned their attention to him. The fire cast their confused faces into chaos. The faces changed from surprise to sneers to hysterical laughter to tears to fear in the fires flickering light. the Host cleared his throat and grasped weakly at the words he needed.
"Wolves about." He muttered irritably. "I'll handle them. Do not, under any circumstances, leave the fire's light." With this ominous warning, The Host darted into the darkness, his body seemingly being engulfed by the inky blackness the moment he passed the furthest tree a few paces away.
As the darkness pressed in against The Host on all sides, he felt a stab of guilt. This was the first time he had ever left his guests alone at the campfire. Hefting his bow before nocking an arrow, The Host moves through the darkness, blind except for his own knowledge of the wayside to guide him. He doesn't look back.
This is something to allow for me to not have to post for maybe up to a week. I'll still be able to follow all your posts but I doubt I'll have the time to churn out a decent enough post. I may end up returning beforehand but who knows. If by any chance, I'm going to be unavailable for longer than a week I'll let Pleasant Kenobi know and he can pass on the information. I don't think that'll be the case to be honest though.
"All very true," mused Sharrow, then his tone hardened, "But nothing if any import either. Do you think you speak to children? You have talked a lot and said nothing, so I ask you again, what wisdom have you that causes you such mirth?"
Claudio listens intently to Thibadeau's words, then raises a finger, "If I may quickly pursue a tangent, what are theyse 'creatures' you have brought life to from the mud, Swamp dweller?"
Listening for a reply, once the old man has one, he turns his eyes to the host as he leaves the warmth of the camp fire. What and odd man, Claudio thought to himself, One must consider the fact that he is something un-natural and not of this world, but one must also consider the fact that we may have stumbled upon a fool of the woods by chance.
Claudio's thoughts are interupted by Darren continuing their previous conversation. Claudio's inquistive smile fades upon hearing Darren's words. It is replaced by a look of anguish, or an expression of anger, the light of the campfire flickers and makes it difficult to determine. Claudio stands up suddenly, and loudly states, "You know nothing of the divine bond between mortal man and this world, boy." His tone is condescending, his fists clenched agressively. He exhales sharply and rubs his eyes. "Excuse me a moment, gents." Stepping over the stump upon which he sat moments ago, Claudio stands on the edge of the light looking out into the thick darkness that lays beyond the fire.
Something about this was not right. He felt himself angered easier than ever, but at the same time, willing to open up. Was it the camp fire? Or was it this bizzare hsot of theirs? Swamp magic? He laughed to himself. Maybe the prying eyes of that Soul Watcher having some strange effect on him?
Of course, it could simply be that he is tired. Not in the sense of lacking sleep, but more so in lacking true rest. He had travelled, and talked, and listened for so long. Too long he thought. Composing himself, he turns and joins his companions at the fire. Sitting down he looks Darren in the eye, and considrs an apology. Claudio hesitates, then getting comfortable he says, "The Gods and I... we don't see eye to eye." He rubs his chin in thought, "Tell me Darren, when did you find religion?"
Marcus was barely listening to the conversation anymore. His focus was now on The Host, stringing an old bow. He seemed on edge, peering around the thick treeline. Mimicking the old man, Marcus cast a quick glance around the area. Though he couldn't see or sense anything wrong or out of place, the sudden cautiousness of their host made him lay a hand on his sword. Getting up and moving closer the host, he bent down slightly, to better talk with the old man. "what is it you see?" Marcus said, eye's still shifting through the darkness.
He stood back, looking again to his equipment and tried to listen over the steady crackle of the fire. Nothing. Suddenly, the host moved into the darkness, asking none to leave the fire's light. Marcus hesitated, an urge of curiosity coming over him. He was about to take a step forward, when he laughed and shook his head. "Have it your way old man...have it your way." He returned to his seat and drawing his sword closer, continued to watch as The host was drowned in darkness.
I overlooked a minor detail in the OP. Nothing major but it helps add to the atmosphere. There is absolutely no wind, an odd thing for a being outdoors. There will be no wind throughout the RP, except in your stories if you fancy mentioned wind lol.
Also, there are no noises except for that of the fire and the guests within the campfire. No animals, no insects. Nothing. Make of it what you will.
Hope that's ok with you all! Sorry to clutter up the thread but I just wanted to make sure you all see this. I like to notify you all if I think of details that you would definitely need to know.
Anyway, update over. I'll be keeping an eye on you all!
Darren shot Claudio an angry glance as the scholar stormed off to the edge of the camp-fire, he took his broadsword from the stump it rested on and absent-mindedly polished it using the cloth he wore.
Who does this man think he is, referring to a warrior who's close to thirty years of age as a "boy", especially when he acts like little more than a spoilt child himself when someone says something he doesn't agree with?
He was about to launch into a aggressive reply when Claudio returned looking somewhat apologetic, Darren decided to hold his tongue for now until he found out more about the old man.
"I've been brought up in Kin for all my life by my mother and father" he told Claudio in reply to his question "Though it was only when I was almost seventeen that I began to truly understand it. Why do you ask?"
Darren took a few moments to consider the question since he'd never been asked it by anyone previously, he looked down to the ground for a second before replying with an answer.
"I've always felt a sort of presence... connection if you like... to other people and to the rest of the world too. It's hard to explain but I can't stand to see evil happen in front of me, I've never understood how anyone could do bad to others. That was just as true when I was a child as it is now, but until my latter teenage years I never really understood why. It came to me one day when I was riding with my father over in the south-western counties, I finally understood that all things in our world are only reflections of a singular great truth that our mortal minds cannot comprehend, that the greatest freedom is losing one's individuality and becoming one with everything-else. On those fields I experienced the closest I had ever been, and still have, to true happiness. From that day on, I was much more content than I had been before and I dedicated myself to fighting in the name of good. Sometimes I question whether my beliefs are true, whether I'm simply deluding myself, but in all honesty I'd rather lead a happy life with purpose rather than a nihilistic or hedonistic one that would please no more than most base of urges, even if that purpose itself could well be arbitrary if I am mistaken."
Sharrow had followed the Hosts vanishing form with his eyes, but at Darren's words he turned back to the conversation.
"If you pursue happiness but shun hedonism," he announced, "You are doomed to a life of futile longing. Are you so ignorant that you do not knoe hedonism to be the pursuit of happiness?"
Marcus looked at the men discussing religion and the purpose of life and let out a roar of laughter. "You fools! You believe that some mystical force is wandering around shaping our land? Shaping our very actions? I pity you. Too lead your life by some code of a non-existent being, you must be deluded? Crazy, perhaps?" Marcus chuckled shaking his head.
"In all my travels, I have never seen or heard anything so stupid than these beliefs or religions. Pray to your God, but it won't stop my sword from entering your gut." Marcus smiled, before he settled himself back on the tree stump, resting his sword back against his shield.
Marcus' second word sends a shiver Shannow's expression, but it is masterfully controlled. "Only one of us has spoken of a religious belief, while we rest have questioned him. This obnoxious outburst has served only to highlight your ignorance."
Shannow turns his lean form fully to face Marcus, and his tone changes from mild irritation to downright scorn.
"Though having said that, it is true to say that you speak well, at least for a man of the sword. People who must fight for a living rarely have virtues enough to recommend them any other way, yet you manage polysyllabic words and can keep up with the conversation, almost. For that, I commend you"
In the pure darkness that spread all around The Host, direction was meaningless. Besides, he knew the way. No matter where he needed to go, The Host always knew the way. There were no trees within the darknes, no floor to speak of. Each step was silent, no matter the force with which you stamped your foot.
Looking down, The Host watched his feet as he paced quickly to his destination. That was the thing about this place: The darkness wasn't really darkness at all. You could see your own hand in front of you as if it were a bright day. The darkness wasn't darkness but that was the only way The Host could describe it. This place, the wayside, wasn't shrouded in darkness... the darkness was the wayside. The Host knew this.
Suddenly, a body came into view. The Host stopped and regarded it fom a safe distance. He glanced down at his bow, arrow nocked already. He smiled wryly, returning the arrow to his quiver. No weapon would help here. Breathing slowly, The Host walked towards the body.
It was a young man in coarse-cloth robes, blonde hair cut short. The Host wondered who he was. A young Cantera druid? He mused, scratching at his chin with a gnarled finger. He rejected the thought almost instantly: this one didn't have the neck markings of the Cantera. Who then? "But more importantly," he said to himself, "why?"
The Host stood over the body for a while, scanning it for any clues. There were no visible signs of death, as he had expected. Going through the motions of searching helped calm his nerves though. This body represented something serious, something that The Host would have preferred to never experience.
Satisfied that he'd done a thorough job, The Host turned from the body, craning his neck up to look at the sky. All he saw was the eternal black, felt it weighing down on his shoulders. "The rules have been broken..." He breathed, almost silently. "Balance must be restored." With that, he strode to the left, away from direction of the campfire.
It felt as though hours had passed, but The Host knew it couldn't have been. Time was strange on the wayside, but The Host had grown accustomed to read the fluctuating timeframes almost perfectly. As he walked, The Host worried about the body and what it meant. His guests were integral to restoring the balance, but could not be told. Telling them would break further rules. "No good would come of it, anyway." The Host told himself, shaking his head vigorously.
The rustle of leaves reached The Host's ears as he planted a foot down, the campfire appearing brightly out of the darkness. He was only a few paces from the fire itself. He was no longer surprised at the fire's sudden appearance, years of experience on the wayside had shown him many things. His guests all looked up from their conversations, questions obvious on their faces.
"Nothing much out there but the wolves." The Host assured them, confidence covering his deep concern. "There tend not to get near the fires but I just wanted to make sure." He coughed hard before placing his bow and quiver next to his stump. "I've not survived this long in the wilderness without being cautious about the creatures I think I know." He sat on the stump and rubbed his eyes. "Anyway, I trust you've all gotten nicely acquainted with one another?" The guests nodded, slowly, some offering tight smiles.
They seemed ready. "Well, you're such a bunch of interestin' folk and I bet you've all got some fine stories to tell. As I said on all o' you's arrival, you gotta share a story to stay at my campfire." The Host scanned the faces of his guests, mind picturing the body of a young man surrounded by darkness. It was finding it difficult to stop his hands from shaking.
After a drawn-out silence, The Host extended his arm and pointed an old finger at one of the guests across teh fire. "Mr. Sharrow, if you could be the first to share?"
Ok, so the first story-teller has been picked.
I'm away until roughly Monday so ThreeWords, if you have any questions, I won't be able to answer them until I'm back I'm afraid. If it's something urgent, then PM Pleasant Kenobi and he can pass it on to me via text. You have until the 9th of December to submit your story. If you want to submit it earlier that's fine by me, it means we can get into discussions about it much quicker.
The rest of you: I'll allow one post per character before the story is submitted. The post is literally just to allow for your character to react to The Host's return and the first pick. Same goes for you ThreeWords! It's not neccessary for any of you to do it, but it makes sense, right? After all, The Host has just appeared on the edge of the campfire lol!
Here, at last, is my story. Five days late, granted, but as those who have prior experience will know, that's nothing when you've got 3W around. Hopefully it'll have been worth the wait...
?A story?? the Fool shook his head, half smiled, and sighed, ?Yes, I?ll tell a story, and it?ll do more than just pass the time. No, I?ll tell you a story with bones?
As the pipe came his way, he paused, drew deeply on the smoke, and held it in for a moment. He blew one smoke ring, then let the rest out in a rush, his words coming thick and fast alongside.
?Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a kingdom, and unsurprisingly, it had a King. This King was fond of his food, his drink and his women, and wasn?t troubled to make use of the national coffers to ensure he got all three in great supply. Of course, he saw nothing wrong with this; it was as his father had done, and his father?s father before him. The King ruled, and the taxes paid; such was life.?
?But tradition is not always an endearment. A rich lifestyle calls for high taxes, and the King?s hunger was so great that he began to tax even the great, noble houses. They, like their King, were fond of the old ways, and these new developments were not well received. They began to grumble, and complain, but never would they have lifted a finger.?
Sharrow paused, blinked, and drew again. Again the ring, again the rush of words, but a new direction.
?Back in Drenan, our scientists found that some chemicals would react only in the truly extreme conditions. They would maintain their composition under almost any circumstance, unless, however, certain other chemicals were present. These we called catalysts; and I believe that they come about in realms other than the scientific.?
?For a man arose, in those harsh times, who seemed to break all the rules. He was a young man, and of poor stock, yet he spoke like a old man, and a learned one. His speech was slow and careful, but possessed of great weight, and a certain smouldering heat that could build a fire in anyone?s heart. He spoke against the King, complained of wasted money and crushing taxes, and the people listened, serfs and nobles alike.?
?Of course, without the nobles's support, the King was lost. He had no money to raise an army, and the rebellion was over almost before it was begun; a mob of every kind of man stormed the palace,a nd the few loyal guards were no defence The king was deposed, imprisoned, dealt with, whatever. And into the space where once the king had sat, now stepped the rebel leader. The nobles could not stop him, for the people were on his side, and to oppose him then would have meant death. So, he took power.?
?And take it he did. Reforms were quick, and mighty. The Leader did as the King should have; patrols formed to fend off bandits, replaced the corrupt judges with arbiters of harsh yet fair justice, and even had the roads repaired. Life was looking good.?
?But it didn?t stop there. The Leader had been a poor man, and he bore in his heart a resentment for the double-law set for lord and servant. He set about reforming these, taking from the nobles? rights to strengthen those of the common folk. Of course, this was expensive work; the taxes went up, but mostly on the rich, for could they not afford more to spare? Taxes now were not a flat rate, but proportional to wealth, and the nobles suddenly realised that they might be in danger. Finally, as laws were proposed to make all men equal, regardless of birth, they felt the need for action.?
??A king new to his throne is easily knocked off?; they mused, and they began a plot to replace this irritation. But the Leader was no soft, well-fed monarch, and his agents caught wind of the treachery, and his troops moved against their traitors.?
Sharrow sighed, shook his head, and drew on the pipe a third time. Then,
?He caught the infection in the bud, but he had no victory. For he could not simply release his prisoners, but neither could he have away with them; they had supporters thought the land, and the little nation would be torn by civil war. In his despair the Queen came to him, the Queen who had been young when her husband had been deposed, and now offered him a deal.?
??Marry me?, she said, simply, ?At the moment you are an usurper, but by marriage you can become one of the royal line, and rule over these troublesome nobles by more then simple might of arms.? ?He was ready to accept, but he sprung her plan.
??However?, she added, slyly, ?There can be no succession while the old heir lives. If you are to rule by right, you must kill my children, and make your own line the rightful dynasty.? The attack was clear; How far will you go? it asked, How far is too far in the defence of freedom? The Leader was a good man, and it made him weak; surely he would quail before such a challenge.?
?In his desperation, he saw only his goal, and clung to it. The children died swiftly, I hope, as he killed them with his own dagger, but surely the queen suffered longer, as he consummated their marriage with force borne of haste.?
Sharrow fell silent, and regarded the others. ?When the public found out, they lynched him? he said, softly, ?He had only ever sought to improve their lot, but in the end he descended to a terrible deed. I ask you around this fire: was he a good man turned evil, or inherently evil to ever be able to do such a thing. Does the intention counter-balance the action, or the deed condemn him forever? Indeed, since every evil man believes his reason are good, is he simply evil, or is it that all the ?evil? men are simply driven by forces we cannot see??
The Host viewed the silence that followed with sparkling eyes. Slowly, the old hunter lifted a gnarled hand to his chin and scratched softly at his beard, seemingly lost in thought.
Eventually, he dropped his hand and leaned towards the storyteller. "Surely the rebel leader couldn't be held completely accountable for his crime, Mr. Sharrow? After all, the Queen would have known that he was a man passionate about his cause. She would have had the knowledge that the man would stop at nothing to acquire the freedom that he so desperately sought for his people."
The Host paused for a second to reach for his pipe, then resumed talking as he thumbed tabac into its bowl. "The Queen was a terrible woman to risk her children like that, regardless if she thought the rebel leader would refuse to kill them." He sucked on the pipe hard before expelling the smoke from flared nostrils. "Surely she must have known that whatever the rebel leader decided, he was doomed. Refuse to murder and he would have no claim to the throne; carry out the deed and go down in history as a child-killer. The woman knew what she was doin' and is the truer evil in your story."
The Host breathed deeply, pipe clutched in his right hand. Staring into the flames, the old man sniffed in mock disdain. "Women are always causing us trouble, right men?" He allowed only a brief pause before slapping his knee and roaring with laughter, a sudden and lonely sound around the campfire.
Once he had calmed, The Host abruptly turned back to Sharrow, eyes sparkling once more with untold knowledge.
Darren listened carefully as Sharrow told his story and the Host replied, then decided to add his own thoughts on the matter.
"I agree with our host here that the Queen was partly responsible for her children's deaths, though I confess I still pity her for what she must have felt when she realised her mistake. I don't think the rebel leader is excused though, did he not think of alternatives? Killing defenceless little ones is something which I personally find... close to inconceivable and that he apparently did not consider his people's views on the act shows that in his struggle he had lost sight on what really matters."
The knight paused to recollect his thoughts and then continued with his diatribe.
"Dividing the world into good and evil people is a fallacy, declaring someone as evil is a defence people use when they cannot work out why a fellow man has done such a terrible act, so they decide that he must have been motivated by some sort of malevolent force rather than looking deeper to see why he actually did it.. The truth is that we are all capable of evil acts, if in the wrong place at the wrong time. The story which Sharrow has told us shows how true the maxim 'power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely' is and why any authority system that is based around one mortal man is fundamentally flawed."
Marcus let out a chuckle at the old mans joke. Then returned his eyes to Sharrow. "A simple tale, really. The man, the hero if you will, rising up from poverty to overcome a corrupt leader?" Marcus laughed before continuing. "He fought well, he gave his people peace and returned them to a working way of life and yet, through blood he was denied. Well, as they say; Blood is thicker than water..." Marcus paused again, staring into the fire, listening to the steady crackle of the burning wood. "The man done what was right, it was a necessary evil. The man wanted to protect his land and do the best for it. If a few screaming, whining kids must die to make it that way, so be it." Marcus looked up at the others. "But tha's just what I think..." He smiled and took another bite from the jerky and returned his eyes to the fire.
The Host nodded sagely at Darren's words, but suddenly rounded on the knight, pointing smouldering pipe at him. "And what of you, Sir Ammon? Freedom can be a hard-fought thing. Would you have conceived a better solution under such desperate circumstances?"
The Host's eyes reflected the fire's light as he placed his pipe back between yellowed teeth, staring intently at Darren's hardened features. The man didn't seem to want to answer right away.
After hearing Marcus's words, The Host turned to laugh at the scruffy wanderer. "Who's to say that them kids, with their father dead, wouldn't have grown up to rule with a fairer hand?" His voice was quiet, yet firm, sadness edging it slightly.
"What you call the "hero" of this tale, Marcus, did not bring his people peace. He brought them war. The kingdom was peaceful before his revolution, if malcontent. The king was a fool though, heavily taxing both the commoners and the nobles and leaving himself with few men loyal to his cause. His reign was doomed either to be a short one, or bring disaster to his nation.
"Continuing to the posed question, the rebel was acting in his and the people's best interest when leading his revolution. Judging by what you told us, the people were clearly unsatisfied with being forced to pay such high taxes while seeing no benefits to themselves, and the King refused to change his ways in the face of imminent revolution. There is nothing wrong with deposing a leader who violates his subjects freedom's in such a way without consent. The murdering of his predecessors children is clearly an evil deed though. I can see and understand his reasoning's, and I believe he did it with the commoner's best interest in mind. However, the unprovoked taking of another's life is unforgivable.
"To say he was inherently evil though? I wouldn't say so. I've never seen a man who was born inherently evil. Many are more susceptible to its temptations than others, but they are not doomed to commit evil deeds. Often experiences and other influences throughout their lives cause them to to think that evil is their only real choice of action. Regardless of his intentions, he committed a grave evil, and was punished for his deeds. The woman can share no blame for his actions, her suggestion was its own separate evil deed.
"I do find it rather humorous however, that you say he aspired to create laws making all the people equal, when his first tax law clearly implies that they are not."
Darren nodded in agreement with Marcus's initial statements, but then his expression darkened as he went on. As Sai'if spoke the man's words reverbated in his head and despite the Host's earlier warning red-hot fury consumed him as he abruptly stood up, sword in hand.
"That's it, I've had it with you and your smug smile while you say terrible words!" The knight shouted at Marcus. "Maybe it'd be best for the children of this land if I cut you down where you sit now... but I'm sworn to fight honourably so I must challenge you to a duel." He took a step towards the wanderer, blade outstretched "What say you sir?"
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