Strours: Chapter 1
Jan 24, 2018 10:02:14 GMT -8
Post by Ezeze on Jan 24, 2018 10:02:14 GMT -8
Trini, Silvanus, Osfer, Vincent
It's been less than a week since news broke in Shipshaven that the war was won. The city had already been in the throes of patriotism – feeling in the street was that The War of Wits was a just war, a war which needed to be fought against backwards savages that had launched an unexpected, cowardly, dishonorable sneak-attack against the good people of Narin. So many young people from Shipshaven had been caught up in the fighting that 'supporting our soldiers' took on a personal imperative. That patriotic fervor had escalated into near madness two days ago when it was announced that the Vehement would be docking today.
Today has been declared a holiday. Farmhands, shipwrights, clerics, fishermen – anyone who can be spared has been given the day off to welcome the Vehement. Some of them are choosing to spend the day indoors, but enough have chosen to come to the docks that it’s crowded and noisy with flags and anthems and opportunistic merchants hawking food and memorabilia.
As one of the “Ambassadors” (which is an unofficial name, but a persistent one) you were invited to the party at the Burgomaster’s mansion – a gigantic, multi-bedroom affair set up on a cliff overlooking the docks. It’s a private party, so it isn’t as overcrowded as the public roads, but you haven’t been permitted to bring guests and the expectation is that you will spend the night then leave for the capital in the morning. You’ve already said goodbye to your parents, your siblings, your friends, paramours and anyone else you had reason to say goodbye to. The Burgomaster’s gardens overlook the sea and, by extension, both the docks and the public roads below. You can see the rowdy, lower class celebrations if you peer over the shrubberies separating you. The Burgomaster’s own celebrations are more refined; you’re surrounded by the most powerful men and women in Shipshaven. Many of them are older, and almost all of them are human. There are nearly untouched buffet tables spread with delicacies, and musicians providing entertainment. Though there is room for it no one is dancing.
A stuffy servant introduced you to each other briefly when you first arrived, but no one is policing your actions. You can hang together or split up as you want. The Burgomaster himself has not yet made an appearance. What are you doing at the party?
Theodore
By the time you were picked up by the Vehement the war was over. You’ve seen no action beside Admiral Drace. In fact, you’ve hardly seen Drace at all – and you have no idea where his nickname “Smiling Drace” came from. The man is dour, and stern-faced, and always in a hurry. He assigned the duty of taking care of you to the Vehement’s quartermaster, Mr. Samson. In truth the responsibility has mostly fallen on Mr. Samson’s assistant, Jason.
‘Face of the War’ or not, ‘Ward of the Crown’ or not your presence has been a disruption and an inconvenience to the sailors who feel they have done their duty and are anxious to get home. There are few near your age, and those have followed their superior officers’ leads in mostly ignoring you. You’d adapted to life alone on the island (you think?), and you are finding that being surrounded by people who won’t talk to you is a great deal lonelier than you were entirely on your own.
Jason dropped in on you this morning and told you that the Vehement will make land this afternoon. You would have known even if he hadn’t; the air is tinged with excitement tempered by duty – there is still work to get the ship to dock, and plenty of work to do after that as well. He told you more, as well; you will be accompanying Drace to Dandarrin from there, and it will ultimately be up to King Alsandare to decide what to do with you.
Fateh Phalron was the last person you expected to seek you out. Yet, there he was – standing in your path in the hallway to your bunk. He inclined his head respectfully. “Magnus” he says, his posture indicating that he does not intent to move out of your way. “I had hoped an opportunity to read your fate before dock. Will you allow it?” His speech had no hint of accent; he’d learned to speak the language from the sailors so his pronunciation was like he’d lived years in Shipshaven – but his word choice was odd in a way you found difficult to pin down. The few times you’ve had an opportunity to speak with him you’ve felt that you were having two conversations at once.
It's been less than a week since news broke in Shipshaven that the war was won. The city had already been in the throes of patriotism – feeling in the street was that The War of Wits was a just war, a war which needed to be fought against backwards savages that had launched an unexpected, cowardly, dishonorable sneak-attack against the good people of Narin. So many young people from Shipshaven had been caught up in the fighting that 'supporting our soldiers' took on a personal imperative. That patriotic fervor had escalated into near madness two days ago when it was announced that the Vehement would be docking today.
Today has been declared a holiday. Farmhands, shipwrights, clerics, fishermen – anyone who can be spared has been given the day off to welcome the Vehement. Some of them are choosing to spend the day indoors, but enough have chosen to come to the docks that it’s crowded and noisy with flags and anthems and opportunistic merchants hawking food and memorabilia.
As one of the “Ambassadors” (which is an unofficial name, but a persistent one) you were invited to the party at the Burgomaster’s mansion – a gigantic, multi-bedroom affair set up on a cliff overlooking the docks. It’s a private party, so it isn’t as overcrowded as the public roads, but you haven’t been permitted to bring guests and the expectation is that you will spend the night then leave for the capital in the morning. You’ve already said goodbye to your parents, your siblings, your friends, paramours and anyone else you had reason to say goodbye to. The Burgomaster’s gardens overlook the sea and, by extension, both the docks and the public roads below. You can see the rowdy, lower class celebrations if you peer over the shrubberies separating you. The Burgomaster’s own celebrations are more refined; you’re surrounded by the most powerful men and women in Shipshaven. Many of them are older, and almost all of them are human. There are nearly untouched buffet tables spread with delicacies, and musicians providing entertainment. Though there is room for it no one is dancing.
A stuffy servant introduced you to each other briefly when you first arrived, but no one is policing your actions. You can hang together or split up as you want. The Burgomaster himself has not yet made an appearance. What are you doing at the party?
Theodore
By the time you were picked up by the Vehement the war was over. You’ve seen no action beside Admiral Drace. In fact, you’ve hardly seen Drace at all – and you have no idea where his nickname “Smiling Drace” came from. The man is dour, and stern-faced, and always in a hurry. He assigned the duty of taking care of you to the Vehement’s quartermaster, Mr. Samson. In truth the responsibility has mostly fallen on Mr. Samson’s assistant, Jason.
‘Face of the War’ or not, ‘Ward of the Crown’ or not your presence has been a disruption and an inconvenience to the sailors who feel they have done their duty and are anxious to get home. There are few near your age, and those have followed their superior officers’ leads in mostly ignoring you. You’d adapted to life alone on the island (you think?), and you are finding that being surrounded by people who won’t talk to you is a great deal lonelier than you were entirely on your own.
Jason dropped in on you this morning and told you that the Vehement will make land this afternoon. You would have known even if he hadn’t; the air is tinged with excitement tempered by duty – there is still work to get the ship to dock, and plenty of work to do after that as well. He told you more, as well; you will be accompanying Drace to Dandarrin from there, and it will ultimately be up to King Alsandare to decide what to do with you.
Fateh Phalron was the last person you expected to seek you out. Yet, there he was – standing in your path in the hallway to your bunk. He inclined his head respectfully. “Magnus” he says, his posture indicating that he does not intent to move out of your way. “I had hoped an opportunity to read your fate before dock. Will you allow it?” His speech had no hint of accent; he’d learned to speak the language from the sailors so his pronunciation was like he’d lived years in Shipshaven – but his word choice was odd in a way you found difficult to pin down. The few times you’ve had an opportunity to speak with him you’ve felt that you were having two conversations at once.
