Chapter 1: "Life in the Village"

YoungX

YoungX

Hue Master

 Chapter 1: "Life in the Village"
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Location: Ember Falls, the guard station
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Richter, the man who used to be the head guard of Ember Falls, was currently training new recruits how to fight with spears. He stood at the backside of the Guard Station where there were training dummies set-up for the recruits to practice their skills.


"Listen up everyone! A spear isn't as fast as a sword however it has a longer range. Not only that but this long range can be used in situations outside of combat such as fishing. After all the people of the old world used spears to catch fish for food. Plus...," he takes a spear and throws a bag in the air. From there he lunges his spear forward so the the spear went through the empty spaces created by the tied top of the bag. 


"It serves as a useful catching tool sometimes." He takes a bit of a laugh as the recruits became more determined and trained even harder. 


The people of Ember Falls were out there living their lives. People owned shops, some were catching fish, some outside to hunt and some simply lounging around. The village isn't that big but it certainly has a community. 


Today was just another day as well as another occasional large boars that lurk nearby. 


Free Period: Welcome to the RP! Right now it is something I call a free period. People are free to let their characters do as they regularly do. In any case, you can have nameless npcs for villagers if you want too. Do keep in mind that bandit attacks almost never occur but there is the occasional large boars that are in the forest near the village. If you want you can go hunt them and I'll manage the boars.


@Valefar @Luxury Hotline


 @uesius @NOVEMBER


@Nicademus @Doc Taylor @Aenon


Appearance of the Large Boars should you want to go hunting:
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Catoblepas-brynnmetheney.jpg
 
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The boars that occasionally plague the quaint little town of Ember Falls are nasty beasts, indeed. But as Maura looks down the smooth shaft of an iron arrow with a peculiar glint in her golden eyes, her overall aura is that of somber repose. Yes, she had known it was the season for the boars to roam the wilds in their tight-knit little families... and her being nestled a comfortable distance from the village at any given time her Herbarium is usually the first to be encroached upon by the destructive breed. And so as her mother being to frail to combat them, so as it is up to Maura to defend. And if that means she gets to take whatever the boar has to offer down to the square to earn a little extra coin, all the better. Leather has always been in demand... the most versatile of materials. From being used as grips for iron swords to light armor. And the tusks are definitely worth their weight.


The beast, had it been standing upright on its hind legs, would have towered over her. But with Maura nestled safely out of the boars' line of sight amongst the treeline, she makes quick work of zeroing in between its two eyes and monstrous tusks when it bends down to graze. Maura takes her time to make sure it would only take one shot. She takes a deep breath in, and makes sure both of her feet are planted firmly on the ground below her. The exact time-tested ritual that the most legendary of archers had to memorize down to a T.


With a faint flame of utter anticipation, she finally releases the arrow. Like a predator, it deftly glides between the trees and over the brush - under the hanging vines that would stop it in its tracks.


It meets the unsuspecting target head-on as intended. The great beast bellows and instinctively bounds off through the trees, laying a thick trail of red bile behind it.


Maura sets off to follow the trail with no haste. This is how it always goes. It usually takes the animal a few moments to run blindly as its life force fades before finally collapsing in a heap about half a mile off. Still, Maura is satisfied, and her feet make little sound as she returns the bow to sling safely about her back.
 
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While some would prefer to prove themselves in combat and partake in various other bloody sports, Hunter was calmly doing the opposite of living up to his namesake. He sat in the back room of his rather spacious shop, spectacled eyes trained on a partially torn garment. His fingers worked carefully on the delicate fabric, mending the tear with the utmost precision. Once done, he gave a low hum of satisfaction, tying off the thread and setting the fabric away.


He moved onto his next job, giving a sigh when he saw dark bloodstains and tears on a pant leg. Must've been some fool out hunting boars, he reckoned. With no small amount of disdain, he began scrubbing at the stain, brow furrowed.
 
The sound of a sharp knife cutting a piece of wood was always one of life's simple pleasures for Jacob. His feet elevated on a stool was another. These things are both beautiful on their own, but together they might as well be perfect. Alas, no activity can be perfect without music, so Jacob began to hum. His low baritone voice began to carry a simple tune. It was soft and slow, like breeze that day. The kind that rattled the autumn leaves enough to make a clatter, but not enough to sweep them from their homes. So, Jacob sat and whittled while he hummed the sound of the breeze that swept through ember falls. The shavings of the stick he carved laid beside him in a small pile that soon blew away as Jacob smiled.
 
The dock was peaceful at this time of the day. The calm waters always hit the spot whenever Cerys was feeling a little out of her alignment. The sky was nice and sunny today, not a cloud in sight. A perfect time to blow off any responsibilities of the day, if she had any.


She sat with her dress pulled up to her knees, letting her bare legs dip down into the waters. Her clunky black loafers idly sat next to her. Cerys didn't like them much, they hurt her feet. She debated chucking them into the water and forgetting about them, but stopped herself. Maybe she'd need them someday. After all, they were quite expensive, and she wasn't exactly rolling in dough at the moment.


She drew her attention back to her feet, which waded through the water on their own, following the path of least resistance as the aquamarine lake moved around her. To her left were a few fisherman talking amongst themselves and Cerys couldn't help but overhear as their conversation traveled down to her. Her pouty lips drew up into a small smile as they both guffawed at some joke.


Cerys pushed a couple ragged hairs behind her ear and leaned her weight on her hands behind her. She closed her eyes, sighed, and opened herself to the sun, blissfully taking in its rays.
 
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After what felt like an eternity of work, Hunter was finally done with the painstaking task of mostly removing the bloodstain. The stench of ammonia lingered in the air, burning at his eyes along with the dust that seemed to constantly drift around the workshop no matter how much he cleaned. With a long sigh, Hunter decided that now would probably be a good time for a break. He stretched his legs and back a bit, yawning before forcing himself to stand and trudge towards the door leading outside.


The moment he stepped outside, pain stung at his eyes. He had no idea how he had forgotten the sun existed every time he walked out of that shop. Perhaps what little light filtering in threw him off. Either way, the solution was to blink a few times and just carry on with life. The man began to make his way towards the docks, hoping for some calm and inspiration brought on by the sea.
 
((Sorry, passed out yesterday into much needed sleep.))


Clang! Clang! Clang!

Smoke, black as pitch, bellowed from a bricked chimney within the town. It rose upwards, and dispersed with the wind. The smithy itself was well placed, not too deep in, but not to far out. Easily acceptable for people of all walks of life to obtain a latch, horseshoe, or the occasional blade. And there was always work to be done, commissions to be made, bonds to be, quite literally, forged. Most everyone had been to the smithy at one point or another, and had greeted the atypical blacksmith, Atticus Iron-Shaper.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Atticus was always the friendly sort, very unlike most blacksmiths you hear in the tales. Not at all bitter and harsh, more nurturing and compassionate. What was a blacksmith, if not a person who refined an ore into a shape it was meant to be? As he was doing now, making a sword for someone who had just been accepted into the guards. Atticus would make a good sword, hopefully it would keep the kid's skin firmly affixed. A last few hammer strokes, an application of his trade symbol towards the hilt of the blade, and a toss into a water barrel to cool.

Clang! Clang! Clang!
Tink!
Tssssssssssss...

With that out of the way, Atticus needed just a few more touches. A sheath, actually. And for that, he needed leather, which he was running low on. Taking out a sign, he placed it in front of his shop, wiping sweat from his face as he entered the light of day. "Leather needed, fair price." As a secondary measure, he hailed a village boy he saw running by. "Hey son, could you deliver a message for me? To the tailor, Hunter? You know, the really tall guy."
The boy gave a nod, and Atticus wrote out his letter.

"Hunter Flynn,
Do you have spare leather for a sheath, possibly?
From Atticus Iron-Shaper"

Atticus gave the boy an appropriate amount of money, some for the sheath and some for the boy to keep. The boy ran off. 

@november pyres
@Luxury Hotline
 
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Hunter sat by the docks, gaze distant as he just zoned out. His mind was blank, only focused on the sound of idle chatter and waves. So much for inspiration.


He snapped out of his daze when some passerby bumped into him just slightly, sitting up a bit more straight and blinking rapidly. He gave a quiet groan, rubbing the bridge of his nose.


Nice job wasting time. Hunter thought to himself, giving a small scoff before standing. He couldn't stand being idle for too long, especially when his outings were less than productive. It was then that he saw a young courier boy running from the general direction of the forge. Hunter gave yet another sigh, knowing he'd probably get underpaid for some leather. Truth be told, he hardly used the leather, finding it too tough for finer clothing. Nevertheless, he always felt an attachment to each material he had in stock, thinking that he'd possibly use it at some point or another.


@Nicademus
 
"Doctor, doctor~" A man crooned as he staggered into the health center, causing the bell appended to the entry to ring. His words were painfully garbled, so much that it didn't take any guesses for the physician to presume who was at her door. The female, who practically had her nose stuck in a medical journal, glanced up at the village drunkard. She didn't hesitate to question, "Another brawl, Raymond?"


To which, the man, presumably named Raymond, gave a sloppy nod. He had managed to hurt himself frequently, so the two happened to be on a nonformal first-name basis; of course, most of the village seemed to have no second thoughts about welcoming strangers as if they were distant relatives. The physician set her novel down, ready to inspect the extent of her acquaintance's injury.


Instead, she got to view the unsightly bandages bound around his left arm. If she had to guess, she’d say that they were at least a month old, what with the filth attached to it. "I reused the last ones and dressed it just like you did," he sang, trying to show off the soiled compression that was wrapped around his forearm. The female inwardly cringed, although a look of concern flashed on her face.


“I see.” The female murmured, taking a hold of the cover and skimming it off. With the dried plasma, she hardly got a definite view of the laceration on her guest’s forearm. Humorously, she commented, “Please allow me to do it next time. Otherwise, you may end up stealing my job.” This had caused the drunkard to snicker uncontrollably, which gave her to time to escape for a moment and return with a wet cloth and a basin of liquid. She began dabbing away the grime, and soon, the wound was visible.


She whistled, her lips forming a fine line afterward. “Rue, what is it? Is it serious?” The drunkard asked, his words barely slurring at this point. Without delay, the female responded, “Looks like that arm of yours is going to have to be amputated..” The pair remained hushed for a minute, but the miniature grin the physician was displaying made him sigh in relief. “You’re not a jester for a reason..”


Ten minutes had passed, and she had sutured the laceration to her best ability. After re-wrapping the limb with proper bandages, she gave the drunkard a lecture, telling him that she would only accept payment in the form of a deal. He had agreed, so she told him that she wouldn’t permit any more bar fights. The man, who reluctantly accepted the compromise due to his lack of currency, took his leave, giving the physician time alone to sterilize her equipment. Going over her belongings, she noticed an object missing, a falciform knife. Because amputation wasn’t popular in the town, it wasn’t as if she’d need the knife anytime soon, but just the thought of being unprepared made the female wince.


Hurriedly, she smoothed out her attire and set off for the blacksmith’s. The stroll through the village was as serene as she assumed it to be, the only note she could make out being the bells on her own anklets. It didn't matter much, however, for she soon found herself in front of the blacksmith's establishment. Despite the fact that dirt floors were commonplace, the female examined her bare feet for any soil she could track inside. Satisfied with herself, she passed through the entryway, raising a hand to greet Atticus Ironshaper.


( @Nicademus )
 
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The sound of clashing metal rang through the air. The constant CHING, CHING, CHING sound hammered into Alister's head. Alister could tell the young man was tiring out, so he began to strike strategically each time. Under hand, over head, side strike, block he thought to himself as he repetitiously struck with his sword. Finally, Alister saw a opening and struck his opponent's sword and it clattered to the ground. He raised his sword to his chest and gave him a admiring glare. He lowered his sword and turned to the crowd watching. "Can anyone tell me what he did wrong?" there were whispers among the crowd. Then a boy about 17 raised his hand. "Yes you." Alister said pointing at him. "He left his guard open." Alister nodded with approval. "Exactly! never leave you're guard open or you will be exposed to heavy strikes. You all must know this as a guard. Without your weapon you die, and it will be a grave mistake for that to happen. Now I must continue my duties." he raised his sword to the air. "Remember this young men. Those who die fighting shall fill an honored grave, for glory lights a soldiers tomb and beauty weeps the brave" he walks to Richter. "thank you for having me but i must go now." he held out his hand and smiled waiting for him to shake back.


@YoungX
 
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As Cerys maintained her trance, her mind continued to wander over to the nearby fishermen who seemed to be having a grand ol' time. She would bob her head side to side and up and down to herself as they spoke to each other, serving as the unobserved third party of the conversation. Oh, really, fisherman number one? Your brother's coming to town? That's wonderful, I hope you two have fun. You're kidding, fisherman number two, you just bought yourself a brand new pole? How quaint, I hope it serves you well. Now, please, if you want to have any chance of having dinner tonight, you'd best be quiet. You're scaring the poor creatures.


Her thoughts were interrupted by the pitter patter of what she presumed were young feet. These were a sharp contrast to the slower steps of older feet coming from the other direction. Cerys opened her eyes and lazily turned around to see the commotion when she spotted an interesting sight: a man with the most unusual head of hair she had ever seen. It was a beautiful shade of pink, like a fresh batch of cotton candy simply plopped down and made itself a home on the man's head. She had seen this man before around town and had always wanted to ask him if it was his natural hair color, yet never worked up the courage. Maybe I should dye my own hair. Perhaps a pink like his, or maybe a nice blue like the sea, she mused while continuing to absentmindedly oogle in the man's direction.
 
The boy in question handed the letter and the pouch to Hunter. ((I dunno.))

~~

After sending the boy on his merry way, Atticus had ventured back inside his shop. He removed the blade from the oil, and examined it. A solid, straight blade. An ideal formula. Of course, there were those who preferred curved blades, and they had their merits. Curved swords were better against the lightly armored, and could slice like none other. A straight sword could chop and thrust, however. And you never oft heard of a man half-swording a curved blade (A maneuver where one would grab the slightly dull blade, usually to perform a variety of functions). Attaching the haft of the sword, all that was left was sharpening and polishing.

But first... Atticus stood, holding the sword in his left hand. He held the blade firmly, lofting it up and giving a mighty swing through the air. The balance is good, but the blade is slightly on the heavy side. Good for the kid, he's got the shoulders for it. Atticus, like most blacksmiths, knew how to swing a sword. You had to, otherwise how would you know quality? He could never take a guard on skill, but he had the force of daily labour behind him. As such, he wasn't afraid to travel if he really needed ore, and the traders haven't been by. 

Atticus picked up a whetstone, and began to sharpen. Soon, he would get into polishing. A steady Shiiiick as he went back and forth on the edge, trying not to sharpen the area by the hilt too much. It needed to be able to chop, and yet still be grabbed is versatility was required. As he was going through this, the door to his shop often. Why, it was none other than Rue, the wise woman, doctor... generally the smart one of the village. "Why, hello Miss Rathbone. It's too soon for new tools..." He gave a pause, then a smile "Though, if you're here for friendly chatter, happy to oblige."

@Luxury Hotline
@Valefar
 
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A standard, blank glance was all Rue spared, her head lolled to the side. Vivid eyes locking onto whetstone, she thought fondly of the blacksmith's craft. The final products of his supplies managed to be invariably impressive, to say the least; every item she had received from Atticus had been of the highest quality, and frankly, that was something she admired greatly.


“I’m afraid I’m not here to chat,” the female responded once out of her trance, “I may have misplaced one of my possessions.”


Her coal-black robes swayed from her diminutive build as she ambled towards the male, the bells attached to her sterling anklets rattling with every step. Despite how it appears, the ringing wasn’t bothersome, at least not to most; it was meant to bring share tranquillity and a sense of accomplishment to those around her, as the preceding shaman had explained to her.


Rue opened the medical journal that had been metaphorically glued to her nondominant hand. She had bookmarked the page with a crease, so searching for it was no obstacle. Grasping the text as though it were a wanted poster, she heaved it towards Atticus's range of vision. “The falciform knife I had requested months ago vanished,” she narrated. The drawn-out sketch on the page of the medical journal accurately represented the equipment, or so she believed. It had a steel blade that came off as a hook at its end, and its stem was bulkier than it typically would be, which was arranged chiefly for the grip. “The previous handle you had gifted me with was of bone,” the female admitted. “Truthfully, I seldom used it due to my fear of destroying its beauty.”


Her eyes darted to the ground, displaying minimal grief in having possibly lost one of the pieces she put most of her pride in. “If it’s no trouble, I’d like to have a replica made.”


@Nicademus
 
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Aenon said:
The sound of clashing metal rang through the air. The constant CHING, CHING, CHING sound hammered into Alister's head. Alister could tell the young man was tiring out, so he began to strike strategically each time. Under hand, over head, side strike, block he thought to himself as he repetitiously struck with his sword. Finally, Alister saw a opening and struck his opponent's sword and it clattered to the ground. He raised his sword to his chest and gave him a admiring glare. He lowered his sword and turned to the crowd watching. "Can anyone tell me what he did wrong?" there were whispers among the crowd. Then a boy about 17 raised his hand. "Yes you." Alister said pointing at him. "He left his guard open." Alister nodded with approval. "Exactly! never leave you're guard open or you will be exposed to heavy strikes. You all must know this as a guard. Without your weapon you die, and it will be a grave mistake for that to happen. Now I must continue my duties." he raised his sword to the air. "Remember this young men. Those who die fighting shall fill an honored grave, for glory lights a soldiers tomb and beauty weeps the brave" he walks to Richter. "thank you for having me but i must go now." he held out his hand and smiled waiting for him to shake back.


@YoungX
Click to expand...



Richter shaked back as he too smiled. 


"Of course you have guard duties now," he thought back to the time when he was head guard. "Thanks for assuming head guard. I know I'm not that old yet but I have ny reasons. I know you'll do fine." 


From there he told his recruits to keep practicing their swings.


Meanwhile some of the guards from the village were on patrol. They were in the forest which is very close to the village. Typically patrol duty takes place at the forest, but these five guards were somewhere deep in the forest.


"Nothing to see here... why are we even here?" One of the guards asked.


Another guard answered, "Richter asked us to remember? It was around the time he resigned from head guard. I don't know why he retired early but he did. Anyways keep searching. Whatever we're looking for... sure seems important."


Note: It is still free period. Feel free to have interactions in the meantime.


@Valefar @Luxury Hotline @uesius @NOVEMBER@Nicademus @Doc Taylor @Aenon
 
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@uesius @Nicademus


Hunter took the letter from the boy, feeling the coins that weighted it inside. He inwardly sighed as he opened, eyes scanning over the words "spare leather". 


"Of course, of course..." He grumbled in his deep voice, pocketing the coins and letter. While he wasn't entirely opposed to helping out the admittedly adorable blacksmith he nevertheless didn't want to part with good material. But hey, as long as it was put to some good use, he could let it slide.


And just as he was about to go on his merry way,  there was the unshakable sensation that there were a pair of eyes burning into him. Ok, sure, he knew he was an unusual sight, given his relatively abnormal height and experimental head of hair. But that still didn't call for staring in his book. 


Subtly glancing over his shoulder, Hunter caught a pair of small dark eyes fixated on him. He raised a brow at the rather delicate-looking girl as if to say, 'can I help you?'
 
My hair is so dark and untamable, I don't think I could get it half as bright as his. And I'd keep having to re-dye it as my hair grows out. What would my mother think? Maybe she wants her hair dyed, too. Cerys reached up and played with her own loose strands of hair, the ones she tried to put behind her ear a moment ago. She brought it up to eye-level, comparing her frizzy black hair to the man's. What a contrast!


Cerys continued to gawk for a few moments until she finally registered that the cotton candy man was looking back at her. When he suspiciously raised his eyebrows at her, she did the same, more so in a surprised manner rather than a questioning one. The let go of the strand of hair she was holding in between her fingers and allowed it to float back down beside her face. "Oh, I'm sorry," she began, with her hand still in midair, "Was I staring? I tend to do that." Cerys brought her hand down and looked for something else to focus its attention on. She brought it to the hem of her skirt, which was bunched up around her knees so it wouldn't get wet as she sunbathed. Nonetheless, the edge still was a bit damp.


Her fingers pinched the smooth, dark fabric. It looked so dull compared to what this cotton candy man had on. She almost felt embarrassed, behind so underdressed for the occasion. She went on, still looking in the man's direction, "It's just -- my, you have the most lovely hair. I'm sure you must get that a lot."
 
Hunter gave a small laugh at the compliment, shaking his head slightly. He felt more at ease now that he knew the nature of the girl's staring.


"Nah, I usually get things like 'the fuck did you do' or get looked at like I'm the village crazy man." He spoke with a slight smirk. "But honestly, I couldn't care less what they think. At least now I know I can dye darker furs and pelts pink if I wanted to." He gave a shrug, glancing up at his hair briefly before looking back down at the girl. "But yeah. It's unfortunate that most people are against being too showy."
 
Ting... Ting....

A soft chime with every step. A slight, calming sound. Metallic, much like his hammer swings, but fairer on the ears. Atticus liked the sounds of the wise woman's bells. Reminded him of the previous shaman, and how she would always help Atticus with his bumps and scrapes as a child. As an orphan who had his home due to an apprenticeship, it was those little things that made him smile. And now there was Rue Rathbone. Much quieter. Atticus had never so much as heard the woman laugh, but had vowed to get at least one good one out of her.

Hmm...? Falci-what...? Ah, the amputating knife. That was one of my better works. Atticus gave a hum as he looked at the paper, frowning ever so slightly. A right shame. Luckily, I have the materials for it, not many favor the bone aesthetic. He gave a sigh, saying, "Yes, that was good work, it was. It'll take the same amount of time, 4 to 7 nights." He looked at her, a slight smile "You're going to have to deal with your good friend, the spare, for a while." And with that, he put down the sword he was working on, going behind his counter. He opened up a couple barrels before finding the one with the spares. Not at all high quality, more meant for situations such as this.

The blade in question had a simple, wood handle, covered in cloth. Not for show, the thing often gave splinters. The blade was clean, but needed some sharpening. He picked up the trust whetstone, and went to work. "Sorry, I hope you actually don't need to use it. You're big on quality." 

Shiiiick. Shiiiiick.

"I can always make a set of spares for you. I've collected enough fingerbones from would be thieves, heh." Atticus said, trying to appeal to the woman's humor. They were actually boar bones. Atticus wouldn't really keep human fingers in his shop.

@Valefar
 
After hours of work Jacob finally felt as though he had made some solid headway. The whittling he had done had provided him with a new tuning peg for his lute. Nothing too amazing, but when he went about attaching it to his instrument it fit perfectly. He gave a soft sigh and a smile at that. After all was said and done, Razor decided to test out his new peg, but it was just an excuse to play. He began strumming some simple chords on his lute, smiling :)
 
Cerys puckered her lips sympathetically, fully understanding what it was like to be the subject of disapproving glares. “The village crazy man,” she chuckled, “no, I don't think you're that. You're just unique.” She paused to take a deep breath, graciously accepting the sea air into her lungs. “It's nice, like a breath of fresh air. This little town needs more people like you.” 


It used to bug her a lot when she was younger, all the judgment from people who never took the time to understand her point of view. Over the years, Cerys maintained an aura of light-hearted apathy, as if she hadn't had a clue about what others thought of her. But she'd be lying if she said the opinions of others didn't get to her at times. She admired the cotton candy man's confident attitude and hoped to have that same mindset someday.
 
Hunter gave a small laugh, rubbing the nape of his neck. "Aw well. Now that's something I've never really been told." He spoke, looking rather flustered. In fact, he was so caught up with the fact that he was complimented that he forgot what he was supposed to be doing. The gold weighing down in his pocket was his only reminder of the task at hand, snapping him back to reality. "Alright, anyway, nice talking to you, but I really gotta get back to work." He spoke quickly, already turning to walk away. "Perhaps we'll see each other around." He smiled at the girl before beginning to walk away,
 
Alister nodded. "Thanks for having me but I guess its time for me to go." he smiled and started walking back to town on the way stopping at several stations on the outskirts near the forest. Soon he reached the station farthest from the town. "How you guys holding up?" Alister asked folding his arms. "Sir!" Both Stiffened and saluted. "at ease. So report?"  the men relaxed on call. "only a few travelers." they replied. "what about merchants? have they come?"  he asked. "No not yet." they replied blankly.  "alright next shift switch is at noon"  he grabs a nearby stick and stabs it into the ground then draws a line a little ways away from its shadow. "when the shadow reaches the line its next shift ." he said as he walked back to the village


@YoungX
 
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