Completed Flower, Fire, Blood

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This lazy agricultural settlement rests on the swampy shores of the Middle Suvan at the delta of The Kenash River. The River's slow moving bayou waters have bred a different sort of people - rugged, cultured, and somewhat violent. Sprawling plantations of tobacco and cotton grow on the outskirts of the swamp in the rich Cyphrus soils, while the city itself curls around the bayou and spawns decadence and sins of all sorts. Life is slower in Kenash, but the lack of pace is made up for in the excesses of food and flesh in a city where drinking, debauchery, gambling, slavery, and overbearing plantation families dominate the landscape.

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Flower, Fire, Blood

Postby Alexander Hamish Moore on September 9th, 2014, 4:39 am

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Fall 9, 514


Fall had come to Kenash. The sweltering heat had slowly faded, and the smothering humidity had subsided to more manageable levels. But, it was still hot, and humid. The days of early fall had been rainy, the heat of summer had caused many storms in the area, and the swamp around the fields were slightly engorged with water. Alex had finally settled into his new home, the little on room cabin on the Bloodflower plantation. He was still fighting his itch of travel, but Kenash had many things to offer. And there were many reasons to stay, namely the lack of funding for the mercenary from Syliras.

He had started the day simply enough. A small, but hearty meal of warm breads, and hot meats, and sweet honey. The Sitai always had good meals, at least to the standards of a simple mercenary. On the road he would have been happy with hard biscuits, and dry meat and a bit of cheese. Anything to fill the void of hunger from a long day of walking, and scouting. The food in Kenash did more than sustain your body, the abundance of food, spices, garnishes, jams, and jellies, fed your soul. Were it not for this, Alex thought that he might nor have recovered in anyway from the murder of the Rujaro woman. Even the slaves ate well enough, you couldn’t have your livestock too hungry to work.

But, the slaves were really why Alex was here. They were not happy with their lot. Alex could sympathize, if his freedom was taken, he would do anything he could to regain it. While he could empathize with a slave, he didn’t understand the Rujaro. Why would they flee, only to stay in the swamp. Revenge seemed such a silly notion once you had your freedom. They were a threat to everyone in the city, and on the plantation. Occasionally, Alex would hear a whisper of an attack. Fear and terror lined the words from the Dynasts and Freeborn in the city. And on the rarest of days, Alex could hear hope from the mouths of slaves. Each family had its own private army to deal with this threat, and those forces would be brought fully to bear.

Such a thing was happening today. An errant slave fled in the night, putting his life at risk for a chance of freedom, or- as many in the Sita’s private army guessed- a chance of revenge. After eating his meal as fast as he could, Alex joined with a large group of mercenaries, bounty hunters, and guards in the search for this young man. Almost a dozen men armed to the teeth were searching the swamps south of the river that bisected plantation. They were many clues that would lead to the escaped slave. Though Alex did not know them as easily as many of the hunters and veterans of the plantation, he could spot things that were out of place in the swamp.

Alex had been searching for many bells, since the sun had first risen, and roll call of the slaves given. He had missed lunch, and it looked like he would miss dinner too. He didn’t mind, this was why he was paid after all. He would bring this slave in, if only to keep him from going off to join the foolish Rujaro. That was a mistake, and if he was brought back, he would still have his life. And that was something. Was freedom worth certain death? Alex didn’t think he could answer that. He didn’t know if he wanted to. As lost as he was in his thoughts, he smelled something out of the ordinary. Something manmade, something unmistakable. The acrid smell of smoke hung heavy, and fresh in this clearing.

Two things struck Alex at the same time. One, that he was alone, and cut off from the group. And the second was the fit body of the slave as he erupted from the undergrowth. Alex’s breath was knocked out of him, and his bow was dropped. Not that it would be useful at this range. Alex was struck again on the ground, his head stung sharply as it was struck with a chunk of warm wood. He could feel a wetness over his eyebrow, and a fierce itch as his skin was split, spilling blood. He gasped in pain, but couldn’t regain his breath.

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Last edited by Alexander Hamish Moore on October 21st, 2014, 6:00 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Alexander Hamish Moore
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Flower, Fire, Blood

Postby Alexander Hamish Moore on September 10th, 2014, 6:16 am

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Alex could feel the warm wet blood flowing from his head pooling over his left eye. He gasped again sharply, his lungs refused to draw in air. He raised his arms over his head reflexively, trying to shield his fragile face from the stick wielded by his foe. Alex had never been struck like this, he had no experience to draw from. The only thing he could do was survive. That was something he could do, and would do so by any means. He had proved that many times over.

As a second savage blow rained down on his arm, Alex yelped in pain and anger. Stopping this slave from continuing his assault was the only thing that existed in Alex’s world. But he didn’t have the tools for such a task. As a third blow struck his side, Alex tried to remember what he had with him. Keeping his wits was something he had done many times while dealing with other situations that were life threatening. What did he have that could help? His bow? No, that was out of reach, and useless. His sword? Petch, that was pinned down with him. The only thing he had was his knife.

Alex shielded himself from a fourth blow, and with his right hand reached for his knife. What now? He didn’t want to kill the slave, the Sitai wanted him brought back alive. Alex would have to reciprocate the slave’s warm welcome. He hit the slave as hard as he could with the handle end of the knife, clipping the slave’s head and causing pain. It was enough for Alex to use what strength he could muster to roll the slave off.

Both the slave and Alex rose at the same time, and leapt at each other. They hit hard, and rolled dizzily on the ground. Both men unable to gain an advantage, or hit the other hard enough to force a surrender. Alex thrust at the man’s extremities with his knife, and the man lashed out with his fists and feet. Alex didn’t know how long this had gone one, nor how much longer he could continue. He could feel his strength slowly failing, and his knife being wrestled from his hand. If he didn’t subdue the slave soon, he would be dead.

The slave forced Alex back down, the hunting knife held firmly in his hand. He grinned, with his battered and bruised face, and as he held the knife over his head, Alex heard a whistle. Then another as a blunt game arrow thumped off his head. The slave roared in pain, as a third arrow struck his chest. He stood, backing up, brandishing the knife at the unseen archer, only to catch another arrow with his head. He fell to his knees, blood dripping down his cheeks, and around his right ear.

A large surly looking mercenary emerged from the direction of the arrows, brandishing a large club. The slave tried to stand and confront the man, weakly holding the knife in between himself and the mercenary. The mercenary swung his club, crushing the slave’s hand, and knocking the knife aside. A second mercenary emerged from the brush, his bow held at his side. He reached down, and picked up Alex’s hunting knife.

“Next time, you should probably stay with the group.” he grinned wolfishly, and helped his comrade up. He tossed the knife to his friend, “why don’t we heat this knife up?”

Several more mercenaries arrived, as the first hulking brute stoked the fire with the very log Alex had been beaten with. After a few moments the flame was hot, and Alex watched in dismay as the brute knelt and buried the knife in the coals. He looked Alex scare in the eyes, “You’re going to want to find something to bite down on.”

The bow wielding mercenary handed Alex a stick, and did a biting motion, urging Alex to bite down. “You won’t like this bit, but the rest of us will.” that solicited a round of laughter from the others who had gathered in the little clearing. Alex was gently, but firmly pushed to his knees. He was coming to realize that he was getting no say in what was coming next, and that whatever it was would not be pleasant.

The brute took the red hot blade from the fire, and carefully looked it over. Satisfied with the terrifying visage he presented, he approached Alex. Alex looked in the man’s eye, and nodded him to get it over with. The man looked around, working up another round of laughter, then pressed the flat of the blade to Alex’s head wound.

Alex shrieked and bit into the wood. The blade was held only for the briefest of ticks, but that tick felt an eternity. The others hooted and bellowed in enjoyment, as the brute of a man looked at Alex with eyes full of joy and admiration. “Welcome to the plantation. Keep that wound clean, and you should probably go see a real doctor. I have no idea what I’m doing.” with a final round of laughter, the mercenaries returned to the waiting Sitais, with the slave in tow.

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Alexander Hamish Moore
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Flower, Fire, Blood

Postby Alexander Hamish Moore on September 10th, 2014, 7:22 am

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The head of the Sitai met the returning mercenaries, and quickly put out the call for all the family, hired hands, mercenaries, and slaves to gather. Within a bell, work had stopped on the plantation, and almost two hundred people had gathered around a short cypress tree, with broad worn branches. Branches marked with rode, and ground trodden by the doomed. The escaped slave was going to die here. He was savagely beaten on the return journey, his body covered in bruises, and blood, and cuts given from myriad weapons and tools the mercenaries carried.

Alex was given the man’s leash, and ordered to parade him around the crowd of slaves. Some watched with quiet pride in the man’s attempt of freedom, some with sadness. But mostly the slaves watched in anger, eyeing the battered mercenary with contempt and hatred. Alex’s head hurt, the gash turned burn stung sharply, and the blood from the wound had dried with dirt, making his face itch. The ghoulish procession stopped under the tree, and the slave struggled and kicked as his feet were bound as well. He glared at those around him, and shouted to the crowd “They may kill me, but I go to my freedom!” The slave was struck, and fell to the ground.

Varya gave Alex a noose, and nodded, silently ordering him to drape it around the slaves head, which Alex did with little joy. Alex tossed the other end over the branch, and the fifty foot rope landed on the other side with a dull thud. As if a cue had been given, the slave started to shake. Had he really made peace with his fate? Alex hoped he had. There would be nothing he could do to make this better for the slave.

Alex let the leash go, and took the other end of the rope, along with several other people. On a count of three, the four mercenaries heaved the rope, forcing the slave up, his feet dangling inches from the muddy, and ghastly ground. The cypress branch creaked under the weight, but held. The slave twisted, and struggled against the rope, trying to reach for the ground. He was hoisted up a few more inches, and the rope tied in a shiny grove that had been worn into the tree.

The crowd watched silently, as the slave seemed to urge for help. For anyone to save him. His eyes bulged and teared, as his life was given to those who owned him. Alex watched, his heart full of dread. This was the path he had chosen. It was too late to walk another. But someday he knew a death like this would be waiting for him in the end. Alex said a silent prayer to Dira, asking that she take this mans soul swiftly. But she would not come swiftly, as he continued to struggle for ten more chimes.

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Alexander Hamish Moore
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Flower, Fire, Blood

Postby Vice on October 20th, 2014, 9:03 pm

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Alexander Hamish Moore :
Skills
  • +3 Observation
  • +2 Unarmed Combat
  • +1 Philosophy
  • +1 Weapon: Knife

Lores
  • Rujaro: Why do they fight?
  • Restraint during Combat
  • Beat down by a slave
  • A Mercenary's 'Burn' Treatment
  • Witnessing a Lynching


Consequences :
Consussion - 12 days to heal, blurred vision, head pain, slowed reflexes. Treatable by a L1 Healer immediately.

Burn - Six weeks to heal, treatable by a L2 Healer.


Comments: I love the writing in this thread. It's very smooth, very good. and I like how you never overplay your abilities. Your character becomes injured in his fights, it's very realistic. And the description of the lynching without quite going too far with it was very tasteful. I enjoyed this thread :) enjoy your grade.

If you have questions, comments, or concerns, please send me a PM, and we'll discuss my reasoning behind why the grade given was received. Please make sure to edit any posts in the grading queue to 'graded' and update your CS as soon as possible. Enjoy! ^.^
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Pick yer' poison~
 
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