To the Sound of the Drum [Inactive]

[Chordling]

Musician submitted a new role play:


To the Sound of the Drum - Private one x one between Musician and FaeMelody.

This is a private one x one between Musician and FaeMelody! Please do not post if you are neither of these parties, thank you!

Read more about this role play...

 

[FaeMelody]

The sounds of the busy market were thick in the air, harvest season was in full swing and people were desperate to sell what they had before taxes were due for an unbelievable third time that season. There was tension in the atmosphere, the people were angry. It was subtle things that made it obvious, a town criers tax declaration trampled where it seemed to have 'blown free' from the pole it was nailed. The brewing tension when the Kings soldiers passed, immaculately dressed in their black and purple surcoats. Their presence on the streets had doubled with the upcoming taxes due as a few weeks back, not long after the last round, a tax collector was found beaten to death in an alley near his home. The same man who'd sent a family's two eldest children to the mines as repayment for being short a few silver pieces. Eve knew, like many others of her group that the man just told the word of a King out of control. But the people were angry and there were others who were less opposed to out right violence to send a message to the tyrant.


Such displays were not her way. Results were her focus, she believed it was no good just attacking the king, his messengers or soldiers. His chain of command and power had to be weakened first. That's what she and the woman who followed or worked with her had been attempting with various degrees of success for the past year. The last three major food deliveries from the outlying regions, filled with delicacies from foreign lands they had managed to disrupt and had either stolen or destroyed the goods. Unable to keep up the lifestyle he'd promised to the nobles totally loyal to him had made them start to fidget and whisper like spoiled children. Accompanied with his sudden declaration that his former most trusted adviser was a traitor (who he then had hung drawn and quartered in front of the whole court as an example) had people fearing paranoia had driven the King mad. If the King didn't trust his own uncle, who would be next? The memory brought a harsh smile to Eves full lips - it had taken months of working rumors, planting false evidence and staging damning situations to ensure His Graces fall from, well, grace. It was a major accomplishment for the group of determined women, who'd started calling themselves and their movement 'Phoenix'.


It also settled an old and still raw debt The Lord Adviser personally owed her. The screams of her parents as they were dragged through town behind horses still haunted her sleep to this day. For just a few years back she had been Eveline May D'Santiga, her family nobles of the lower court. Honest, just people who believed in the good power could do for people as a whole. Who believed their Kings lies when he spoke of bettering his people and country.


Then his Grace had set his beady black eyes on her. On the night of her fifteenth year and coming of age he demanded her hand in marriage. Her father, knowing the type of man the Lord Adviser was with his cruel words and heavy hand, refused. They had offered up more gold then they could afford to part with, trying to soften the rejection and save their beloved and only child. But it was not enough. Enraged, his forked tongue flickering in the Kings ear saw them declared traitors to the crown barely a week later. By some twist of fate or perhaps her mothers well used intuition Eve had spent the night with friends on the outskirts of town, under the pretense of having a new dress made in the artisans quarter.


Her first knowledge of what had transpired was their voices raised in agony above the clatter of the hooves against the stones. Her mothers former maid but current friend Marie, who'd left her service with their blessing to become a well sort after seamstress had gripped her arm hard enough to leave bruises. A sound of pained disbelief whined from the seamstress' throat as she tried to turn a stunned Eveline away. The young woman stood frozen however as the crowds at the market stalls parted and the two black horses with guards atop cantered through with little regard for anyone standing close enough to catch a flying hoof. Her mothers midnight locks streaked with silver were tangled and torn, collecting dirt and other matter as the woman struggled to keep her head from hitting the ground as their clothes worn torn and ripped away by the unforgiving ground leaving their bodies with no protection.


It had been merely a glimpse before they were gone, the sound of her fathers gentle voice so twisted with pain as she saw a misplaced cobblestone knock him perhaps mercifully unconscious but making his body go limp, head smacking unceremoniously and bloodily into anything in its way. She didn't realize the person screaming had been herself until Marie wrapped a hand over her mouth and with the help of her daughter dragged her away from prying eyes. Marie had tried to hide her, refusing to allow her to see their executions, but with raging disbelief and her innocence shattering with her world Eveline would not be stopped. Realizing it was pointless the older woman assisted her into a hasty disguise, veiling her face, as unmarried and young she was still counted as property of her parents, all of which was seized by the crown when high treason was declared.


Standing in the silent crowds watching her parents suffer had destroyed the person she was, but created who she was to become. The penalty for high treason was to be hung drawn and quartered for her father, and drawn and burnt at the stake for her mother. Her father, suffering from heavy head injuries had been unable to utter his final words before the noose tightened around his neck, lifting him from his feet until he passed out again and was cut loose to crumple heavily on the wooden stage. They needed him alive for his final punishment. Eveline turned away, reaching her limit as the blade hacked down, splashing blood and gore in a wide arc as he screamed and went unconscious for the third and final time.


While her fathers demise had been horrific, it was her mothers that lit the flame that would not only insure her survival but made her determined to see the King and his adviser dead and rotting if it killed her. Helplessness was like thick acid coated chains around her heart as her mother stood tall before her pyre, bloodied and bruised but chin held high as tears rolled in a steady stream down her cheeks.


“Resistance to tyranny is obedience to the gods.” Her mothers final words rang clear over the crowd. The usual bustle and yelling from the onlookers was absent today as many knew and respected her parents for the work and aid they'd done all across the town. No fruit or stones were thrown and her mother took a shaky breath. Her eyes unwaveringly found Eveline's despite the crowd and her makeshift disguise. Leave - her mother mouthed as the torch was lowered in several places around the base and the crackle of wood bit through the cooling air. Though her hands were clenched in grief and fury burnt in her heart Eveline was not a rash girl. Despite wishing she could throw herself at the guards and save her mother she knew she could do nothing but heed her mothers final plea. She bowed her head and turned, moving through the crowd without looking back as the smell of burning wood grew stronger. It was not until she reached open space and high pitched screams rang through the air did she begin to run. The horrible sounds chasing her from the square.


That day and three years hiding under the Kings nose, the girl Eveline had been had died and become the gypsy styled rebel named Eve. Her long midnight locks were rarely loose but she couldn't bare to cut her mothers favorite feature of hers, so like her own in her youth as she would say. So Eve kept them bound in braids and then wrapped in colorful scarves of the style of the Gypsies that would occasionally trade and entertain on the outskirts of town. She also styled the loose flowing pants their woman wore for daily use and the scarf wrapped bodice that left skin on her mid drift and shoulders bare for their infamous seductive dances. Her skin tone was probably a shade too pale for their standard tanned olive bodies but so far had passed the cursory examinations of guards and towns people alike. A season with a gypsy troupe had taught her how to roll her hips and move her torso and shoulders to ensure there were only a few places most would focus on. It was these skills she utilized today as she set up in the largest open space at the start of the market, right beside the road where she would engage with the royal riding party her scout had said would be their way in a matter of minutes.


She glanced to the building above and behind her, where in the shadows of a window arch their best archer lay in wait, crossbow hidden behind her body as she hung washing innocently from one of many lines strung between the buildings. They had one chance at this, one chance to remove the final layer of protection from the Kings smug and pompous ass. A large portion of the rebels gold had gone to procuring two magical items from different sides of the kingdom. The first a potion when added to the clay jugs of sea water they had shattered throughout the Kings armory insured the steady rust and deterioration of the metal armor and weapons of his guards. It wasn't immediate, but they had begun seeing the changes in the recent weeks as signs of discolorations or complaints were made by guards plied with to much liquor at the end of a long day. How could a King with so much money have supplied them with such poor quality equipment? Many asked in disgust as blades broke on contact and chain links broke away at a touch.


They had a week until the first array of new weapons would be ready from the blacksmiths, this time from the finest and strongest metals of the mountainous kingdom north of their own. Today they must kill the First Mage who was the Kings most ominous layer of protection. He would be riding with the King and his closest nobles on their way to check the progress of the blacksmiths. Their espionage had discovered the mage always shielded the traveling party with magic that would deflect projectiles and harmful magics. This was where the second item would be employed, a single crossbow bolt dripping with anti magic so powerful only their archer Amanda, without a drop of magic in her blood or body could handle safely. They'd been promised and assured that it would punch through the mages shield all the way to his heart. It was Eves job to make sure they stayed in the right place long enough for the shot to be lined up. But with the young tyrants eagerness for feminine bodies, she was confident in her ability to catch his attention, just had to assure it wasn't enough to get her recognized.


With flowing silk skirts of sea blues and greens with matching ribbons fluttering from her wrists and ankles she was hard to miss amongst the duller earth colors of the regular towns people and market stalls. Tiny silver bells decorated the sash around her hips and matched the tinkling bangles of them stacked up her wrists and forearms. Every ribboned step trilled with music as well and they could be glimpsed wrapped around her lower legs. A young man, barely out of childhood stood slightly out of sight and at her signal began pounding a beat on a deep sounding leather drum. As she stepped and twirled her hips and limbs matched his beat adding a silver tinkling of melody to rise above the market place din. She drew a crowd of on lookers, and while a smile could be glimpsed through the gauzy veil covering the bottom half of her face her emerald eyes looked past them, watching the group of noble riders draw closer, their horses forced to walk this close to the busy market.


When they were near enough for her to make the cocky grin of the man in his mid twenties with slate colored eyes and dusky blonde hair sporting his lavish crown did she leap with the rising tempo. Spinning as she left the pavement and glided into the street, her manoeuvre throwing ribbons and silk in all directions as long slits up either sides of the skirts allowed glimpses of her slender legs while the material fanned out, revealing an array of further colors that dazzled like an underwater fire. A guard made a noise of aggression as her dance broke the flow of traffic of horse and people alike and urged his mount to intercept her. Her smile grew as the young King did as she expected and drew him back with a single command. She allowed her lids to lower in a sultry look for the King as her dance lured them down the road at an even slower pace. The nobles eyes remained riveted on her fluid movement and Eve noticed even a few of their guards, lax with the presence of the mage, leering at her display instead of scanning the crowds and buildings. She counted steps in her mind as her eyes slid from the King, she shimmied and found the black robes of the mage at his place behind his charge from beneath her lashes. An innocent seeming spill of flour on the cobblestones she just spun backwards over marked the target spot. She was so close, just three more steps and he was theirs.


Her heart raced not from exertion but from adrenaline and her eyes couldn't help but glance to the windows above where they had three other archers waiting for a chance at the Kings life once the magical shield fell. As open combat was something they weren't trained nor prepared for they weren't counting on being so lucky. The soldiers were well trained to know the danger the moment the mage fell from the bolt, and in the time it took for his magic to fade they would probably have him well covered from above. With the mage out of the picture Phoenix as a whole had decided that Eve and Amanda would have the best chance at assassinating the King by either poison or dagger that night when they infiltrated the castle.


While her mind spun with possibilities the world around her slowed and focused on those horses hooves as they neared a step closer to the white powdery slash across the ground. She noticed the mage frown and glance away, searching the crowds for something she hadn't noticed. Eve held her breath as she rolled her hips and shimmied shamelessly, desperate to keep their attention for just two more steps. She twirled her skirts out around her again, ignoring the tsk of disgusted or jealous wives as more skin was put on display.


Two steps... One Step...

 

[Chordling]

The usual rabble in The Silver Tankard was fairly quiet that afternoon. On a normal week, this time of day would be booming with guests, and the walls of the local bar and inn would reverberate from all of the sound. Randell, the manager often referred as Randy, noticed this eerie mood set in his building every time taxes rolled around. All of the locals wondered how he was able to run such a meager business and still stand for the past two decades. Randell was never sure himself, so he would simply elude the question and ask them what they would want for a drink.


Suddenly the quiet atmosphere was broken when the wooden doors to The Silver Tankard burst open. Seven rowdy, young men stomped their way into the building just as Randell had been serving a couple of guests their mead. The barkeeper turned his head over his shoulder to see who had just came in.


“Eli! What brings you here today boy?” he called from across the bar with a low, scraggly voice to the young man who stood before his group of friends.


“Waiting for your lazy bum to bring us a round of mead, that’s what,” the young lad replied with a smile.


“Aye, go and sit yourself down now, I’ll be with you in a moment,” Randell winked. The group of boys pushed their way through the bar and found a table just big enough to fit all seven of them. They began to talk among themselves while Randell busied himself digging out another round of drinks. “All right boys, here you are,” he spoke after he filled a tray with seven tankards, and walked back to serve the thirsty men. Once the tray had been emptied, he pulled a vacant chair from a nearby table, and sat himself between Eli and another young lad by the name of Roy. “So now, tell me what you guys are really up to, eh?” Randell smiled, also enthused by the mischief the gang was up to.


“Not today,” Eli spoke after he took his first sip of the fresh mead.


“Well, what do you mean, boy?” Randell’s eyebrows raised as he spoke.


“I mean not today,” Eli said again, as if it couldn’t be any simpler. “We don’t have any stories for you today, Randy.” He raised his drink to his lips to avoid any further questions. A concerned expression crossed Randell’s face as he looked at Eli. If there was one thing he knew about this kid, he was never without a story. Something was up, and he wanted to know.


“Elis, I am serious now,” Randell began. “Don’t be getting yourselves into any trouble now.” He gave the young man a stern look with his deep, brown eyes.


“Ah, go on Eli, you can tell the old man. He won’t be any harm anyways,” one of the other men shrugged.


“Harm? Harm?!” Elis, what is this all about boy?”


The rest of the memory from that afternoon became a blur to Eli as the moment before him became incredibly real. There they stood, in the middle of a busy market, not a single eye sacrificing a single second to look at the group of young men. Eli’s blue eye looked around, and he could hear his own heart beating against his chest. This was it. This was the moment.


“People of Eladore!” he shouted into the droning market. “Look around yourselves! What do you see?” No one answered him, and a blank expression covered Eli’s face. “Well, we see pain, we see unreasonable suffrage, we see hunger, and fear.” A few faces from the crowd began to turn towards Eli, some confused, and others annoyed. “And we asked ourselves, why we must lay our eyes upon these very sights every day? Why must the people of Eladore have to live under these shadows?” He raised his arms, gesturing to the great castle of the King. “Our King is corrupt!” he roared as more and more people turned his way. “He is the one who has made us beggars and thieves, and cry in fear!” Eli paused for a brief moment as he glanced over the crowd which he had drawn. “Join us!” he continued, and his friends from behind expanded their formation. “And we shall gain what is rightfully ours once again!” A few broken cheers and claps floated through the air from the people. “We fight not for riches! We fight not for possession! We fight for our happiness!” More claps and cheers began to rise from the crowd. “Who among you shall stand among us?” Eli finally shouted, and a large uproar from the market boomed.


Randell could be spotted from a distance, leaning against the wooden frame of the door. He sadly shook his head as he watched the scene unfold, and wished there were a way he could help his friend. His assumptions about Eli’s rally were wrong, but he had a strong feeling his other assumptions were support him.


“Oh, Randy what has you worried now?” a passing elderly woman asked as she looked up to the barkeeper.


“The usual,” he simply implied. It wasn’t the first time his thoughts were occupied about Eli’s actions.


“You mean the boy, Eli” she smiled.


“Yes, Elis. His full name is Elis.”


“I know that!” she suddenly snapped. “My memory hasn’t failed me yet.”


“Down with the King!” could be heard in the distance. “Down with the crown!”


“Don’t worry about it, Randy,” the woman tried to assure. “Who knows, this could mean something good for Eladore.”