Schrau
Storymaster
RMPD's Scruffiest
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Apr 1, 2008 10:02:35 GMT -5
Post by Schrau on Apr 1, 2008 10:02:35 GMT -5
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Schrau
Storymaster
RMPD's Scruffiest
Posts: 125
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Home
Apr 1, 2008 10:02:55 GMT -5
Post by Schrau on Apr 1, 2008 10:02:55 GMT -5
Part 1 - The Assignment
Jeb Ski'var eventually managed to claw himself out of the collapsed rubble of the store that had been the grave of many of his comrades, and the moment his eyes adjusted to the harsh midday light of an unnaturally clear Sauronan day he realised that he already had an audience. Ski'var was the founder of a people's militia, the Watchers, and the once impressive green leather coat that was their uniform had been torn away at one leg by the building collapse. There was nothing symbolic about the green leather; Ski'var, a merchant, merely had an excess of green leather when it came to outfitting the Watchers. Oh, the militias were a bloody good idea. Sauronan had their own guard, but the Sikkarian-based organization only had concern for the inner city, where all the city's wealth resided. That meant that all the law was at the core of the city and the crime was at the fringes of the city, where all the city's wealth was manufactured. Most of the richer and smarter merchants had the idea of forming militias to protect their interests, or rather their profits. There were several such militias, and they welcomed all providing they were willing to hold a sword and not ask too many questions. Then the barbarians came. They had held the city at siege for six days. In those six days the city guard had closed in around the Crystal Tower and the militias were left on the edge as the first line of defence. They weren't soldiers; they were night-soil men, bread boys, milkmen, bankers, blacksmiths, librarians, butchers, and barmen. Their best hope when a barbarian seven feet tall and about half as broad of the shoulders charged at them like the world's most angry door wedge wielding two axes was that they'd be left in a decent enough state to have an open-casket funeral. The barbarians could have made a rich living over the resources at the edge of the city, but in an odd display of greed they had decided to press on further towards the centre of the city, where they were now being routed by large, well-equipped men who knew that a decapitated berserker was about as deadly as a dandelion. Ski'var's one good eye focused on the faces of the crowd. He had two good eyes when the building came down on him, but the last thing it saw before it was plucked out by a splinter of timber was the head of his best friend, Johann Resh, being crushed by a block. His left eye saw the crowd, his dead right eye still saw the flying fragments of bone and flesh that had been his friend, and would do so for the rest of his life. Ski'var saw the faces of the people, and could feel just how betrayed they were. They were also aware that when the remnants of the attacking force were routed, they would be returning along the very same path they had entered the city, and once again they would be caught in the middle. But mostly, they felt betrayed. Jeb Ski'var felt betrayed as well, and he knew that this feeling could turn a man to religion, at least the opposing religion of those that were supposed to protect them. Ski'var knew that if something wasn't done in the next five minutes, good honest people who had no desire beyond making enough money to have a decent meal would be etching sacrificial circles in blood before nightfall. Things like this could turn a man to Religion. Today, it turned a man towards Law. Ski'var straightened up atop the rubble, and said to the gathered crowd the words that became The Creed.
The table of the Sentinel High Council was an impressive sight, made of expensive panelled woods, the rich mahogany circle surface was inlaid with the sentinel badge in lighter-coloured woods. Note that "impressive" was referred to in the past tense. While the varnish had been constantly reapplied, and the table still gleamed, hundreds of coffee stains had smeared the surface. One could probably divine the very history of the guild from interpreting the circles. There were strata. The intricate random pattern of rings could tell the age of the table much like the rings in wood. The star of the badge had six points representing the six planets. The High Council had six members, though at quite a few points in the history of the guild several positions had been filled by one person. Six people sat at the table today. Gilgal Radisgad, Sentinel Guildmaster. Former paladin, and about as close to a geographic feature as a human being could be. A deadly force when deployed, and like most weapons of mass destruction, Gilgal was kept placated in his office while being gently teased by his subordinates until such a time when the guild really needed to royally ruin someone's day for all time. Seeing Gilgal at work was like watching a siege weapon being deployed, but far more memorable and entertaining. Cutter Gyrdant, Sentinel Quartermaster and also a member of the Sauronan City Council. Quartermaster meant that he was merely a legalised thief, and the fact had been that Gyrdant had been a former brigand before staring down the wrong end of Gilgal's fist and then being offered a job. He wore a spiked helmet even in this environment, a relic from his criminal past and a good example that there were two types of helmets - one that protected the head of the wearer, and one that ruined the heads of others. Then there was the werewolf known as Foil. Chief Justice Foil. While Gilgal spent nearly all his day in the guildhall ensuring that the guild didn't bicker itself apart, Foil was the more visible face of the guild. As was the muridan sat next to him, Carnely Krysospas, the Guild Champion. That usually meant one who could kill something faster than the rest of the guild. The muridan had been quiet all morning, and only contributed to the meeting when he needed to. Compared to the Chief Prosecutor Rebecca Davis, he was a stone. The human had pretty much dominated the conversation with her incessant chattering. Rebecca led a sub-group in the sentinels that prosecuted actual trials, and as such felt that she was queen of her own domain. She was also very nervous, because she felt that one of her subordinates was jockeying for her position as Chief Prosecutor, but she was unable to comment as much. That was because that subordinate sat in the chair next to her. The sentinel mentor was responsible for training new recruits in the guild and being a patient ear for any troubles any guild members had, though mostly he just thought about lunch and rattled off one of a hundred stock bits of advice that he had prepared for pretty much every situation. These days the mentor mostly delegated his training duties to anyone capable enough to do so while he himself spent his days doing real sentinel work, mainly kicking lags in the nuts and prosecuting cases. The vulpin had no real desire to become Chief Prosecutor, but he was savvy enough to know that a nervous Chief Prosecutor could be twisted around to grant anything he desired and refused to tell her about his lack of aspiration. His name was Schrau Cadnos. When he wanted to sound more impressive he went by his full name of Schrau Iestyn Cadnos, though he could be more accurately titled in a voice spoke through thin lips longing for the cigarette that their owner had removed from them so they could speak: "You scruffy bastard." In all honesty, even in his mentor's uniform, Schrau looked about the only person who belonged at the ragged table so that it wouldn't self-combust in shame. Despite the decorum of the meeting, the vulpin was particularly scruffy this day, about one distinct step below hobo-chic and one very small step above outright hobo. These meetings served mainly as a means of justifying the existence of the Sentinel High Council to the general population, as opposed to the act of doing their work which should justify the existence of Sentinel High Council. Nobody liked paperwork, but even this would have been a blessing compared to the bimonthly meetings in the minds of everyone who sat at the table. Well, except for the Chief Prosecutor, who positively thrived on such organization. Rebecca was the sort of person who could use the word "paradigm" without a hint of irony. Schrau had managed to bluff his way through giving his report, and as the junior member of the council that meant he was the last to give his report. He fiddled with a pencil and glanced down at the stack of papers, most of which were old reports to pad out the rather slim folio that was all he had to bring. Schrau sat back, smiled to himself, and hoped that this meant that business would be concluded. And then Rebecca opened her big mouth. "Well, I have one matter I would like to bring to the attention to the Council." She cleared her throat, brushed back her red hair, and glanced down to her own stack of papers. "As you may be aware, Duke Karl's need for more manpower has taken a toll on many of the settlements surrounding Gydnia." Schrau grimaced to himself. What Rebecca was rather tentatively explaining was Karl's rather pressing demands for bodyguards and a standing army. Basically, the man culled most of his numbers from many of the smaller villages and townships that dotted Charthur, but in no way made an effort to use his new manpower to protect those villages. Bandit raids and slaving gangs often preyed on such settlements, as Schrau knew firsthand. The citizenship of Charthur were divided almost solely into two camps, those who blindly loved Duke Karl, and those who wondered how much it would cost an assassin to dispatch the fop. Schrau himself, technically a citizen of Charthur, merely looked upon the man like a gazelle would look upon a zebra; not entirely interested in the other's goings-on, and honestly more concerned about the lioness crouching in the scrub. "Go on." Gilgal intoned in a voice that suggested it had been a long day already. Cutter was the sort of person who could remain amused in an empty room, and Foil and Carnely were no doubt wondering about by how long lunch was going to be delayed further. Schrau on the other hand was succumbing to a small bout of panicky anxiety, an animal instinct geared towards flight. "One such village, a... uh... small township named..." Davis consulted her notes and frowned, "Ffeh... rmdai... Newid..." "Ffermdy Newydd." Schrau quickly said, then in answer to the questioning looks he was receiving from the rest of the council he added, "Ord Charthurian for 'New Farmhouse', which means that the virriage is pretty ord." "Oh? How so?" Cutter asked, genuine curiosity in his voice. Schrau squirmed in his seat. "Werr, it's onry the vurpins of Charthur that bother naming things in the ord ranguage or even mutations of ord words, and the Duke onry raids- I mean recruits from human-onry settrements." Schrau shrugged. "Heck, most folks don't even pronounce 'Charthur' in the proper way." Schrau coughed. "Excuse me, I think I need more coffee." While Schrau busied himself with the coffee pot in the corner of the room, Rebecca continued. "The problem that many of such settlements have faced in the past is a usual breakdown in social law and order. With the majority of the able-bodied men serving Duke Karl, those that remain are either less able to protect themselves or are likely to take advantage of the situation. The people of-" "-Ffermdy Newydd-" Schrau said. "-Thank you. The people have recognised this pattern and are frankly concerned." "May I ask what resources the settlement has?" Cutter asked, both as a quartermaster and a former bandit. "It arr depends." Schrau said, his knowledge already taking over his normal thought processes. "There are numerous smarr mines of various ores spread across the country, and an abundance of wood. Coastar towns may enjoy good fishing, and then there's arways the possibirity of farming, which I assume from the name is where Ffermdy Newydd started off." "Really? Farming is that good in Charthur?" Gilgal asked. Schrau shot him a look, the former paladin had been born and raised in Keystone, right on the edge of the small country's border, and had probably more years to basically watch the Charuthurian situation. "No more so than anywhere erse." Schrau sipped his coffee and sat back down. "Townships rike that found when you get more than two peopre in one prace and some resource." Of course, Schrau did not feel the need to mention the usual causes of failure among such settlements; namely human nature, lack of motivation, or the occasional roaming bandit group. And through all of this, they managed to keep Rebecca's mouth shut for three minutes. Good things don't seem to last like they used to. "Gentlemen, if we've quite finished with the discussion of Charthurian agriculture-" But Schrau was much better at this sort of thing. The sentinel students would be able to keep a discussion alive all day if he wasn't that good at interrupting. "Probabry another pissant correction of shacks in the middre of nowhere. Sikkar knows that Charthur has enough of them. Some had been settred for generations with no one even knowing they were there." "Sound implausible." Carnely commented. "It's amazing how deep you can inbreed and have your descendants stirr abre to walk." "This village is, apparently, quite affluent." Rebecca finally managed, successfully bringing money to the table. Even the merchant's board couldn't sound as greedy. "It's located on the south-eastern edge of Charthur, close to the ocean and bordered by a fairly dense forest. Logging and fishing is good, and while they don't have any direct access to ore, they receive regular monthly shipments from a nearby settlement and apparently possess a blacksmith of some renown." "And yet we're stirr skirting around the point Rebecca." Foil snapped. Rebecca frowned. "Unfortunately, as I mentioned before, the village was recently the subject of one of Duke Karl's-" "-raids." Schrau mumbled. "-recruitment drives." Rebecca finished, smooth as butter on glass. "It is a fairly large township of some two-hundred citizens, and now lacks any organised peacekeeping organization." "In that situation, most townships form a guard or watch or miritia. Or they go to herr." Schrau commented. "As it turns out, the village has a proud tradition of maintaining it's own town watch." Rebecca explained, "Unfortunately, it was from this watch, as well as the hopefuls of the next generation, that Duke Karl recruited from." "Ergo, the watch is barely able to watch the time, much less a township of some two-hundred souls." Cutter commented. "Exactly." Rebecca smugly said, and Schrau recognised her voice as that she used at a particular point in court. And usually, soon afterwards, someone wound up with their wedding tackle nailed to the bloody wall. "The watch lacks crucial training, and has requested our aid." "We can't spare the men." Schrau quickly said. "We just don't have the manpower to send over a few bodies to the boondocks and reinforce 'em for Sikkar-knows-how-rong." "Oh, I'm not suggesting that." Rebecca said. "Just one person to train the watch, maybe recruit a few more from the township, and bring them up to speed. That's all." "And make them another prime target for one of the Duke's recruitment drives?" Schrau frowned. "No, face it: It's his territory, as he keeps reminding us, so it's his mess." And sometimes it helped the gazelle if he threw the zebra into the lioness' path. thingyroaches were less in tune with their survival instinct than a fully-grown vulpin. Unfortunately, the rest of the council were more interested in a nice zebra-skin hat rather than letting the gazelle get to safety. "So... If we do this, what's in it for us?" Cutter asked. "Of course, I'm sure the township will be eternally grateful for our support." "What? So we can recruit new officers from them in future?" Foil snarled, grinning sarcastically. "Mainly in the form of materials, I assume." Rebecca explained, "We're not garnering a lot of support from the Merchant guild, so having close ties to a small yet somewhat affluent community such as-" "-Ffermdy Newydd-" Schrau provided automatically. "-Thank you, could be beneficial for us." "In what way?" Gilgal asked. "Weapons, leather, wood." Cutter recited. "The stuff we need to keep us going." "We need that much wood?" Schrau asked. "You wouldn't believe how much wood I need." Cutter sternly challenged. "I thought the need had dropped off since we discontinued the practice of barricading hotspots in the city?" Rebecca sighed, fully aware that this matter could have been dealt with ten minutes ago had she not been sharing the table with these five... men. That was the only common trait shared among them, they may have been spread across four different species and five entirely different upbringings, but they were men. "All they ask is for some basic training, to be shown the ropes, that's all. Something that I feel Mentor Cadnos should be suitable for." Schrau winced. "Um, sorry? You want me to go out into the sticks and mourd a bunch of impressionabre young fratfoots in my image?" Emma nodded. "Am I the onry one that sees a probrem with that?" "So we'll be accepting your resignation from the post of Sentinel Mentor then?" Carnely kidded.
Outside, Schrau breathed out and managed to get Rebecca's ear. Nothing had been decided yet, and Schrau still had one more card to play. "You know that I'm prosecuting the Heinmann case." Rebecca turned and looked down at the vulpin. "I do indeed, however this takes priority over that trial." "I shouldn't think that anything could take priority over a tripre homicide." "Well, fortunately for the people of Fferm... Uh..." She glanced quickly at Schrau, who had decided not to bail her out this time. "...for them, I do." "And I suppose you have a repracement prosecutor rined up?" Schrau growled. "Of course. Twynog. I trust you don't have a problem with her?" Schrau inwardly snarled, the fact was that he didn't. "Anyway," Rebecca continued, "if you could have any loose ends tidied up by the end of the day, I would appreciate it. Good luck, officer."
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