Stevie

Thomas Chivay comes down later in the evening, reading over a small scroll as he strolls down the docks of Rhoswen. Mumbling something inaudible, he glances up a moment to notice the hanging girl, her body swaying considerably more than usual, given her size and weight. He darts his eyes to the scroll, then back to the hanging girl. He squints his eyes, now realizing who the girl is; and with a grunting resolution, he makes his way up to the gallows, standing before the hanging body, her face now pale and lifeless. Reaching up, he loosens the noose and allows the body to fall onto his shoulder, carrying it off. All that remains of the scene is a loosened rope dangling and flowing with the passing breeze. "That's ends that." He concludes, adjusting the small body as he steps off, eyes diverted back to reading the scroll.

Several men trump into the tavern, already laughing loudly as they throw open the doors, heading for an empty booth to seat the six men. Some bob their heads to the upbeat and entertaining music, one even clapping his hands and calling praise to the troubadours playing such tunes. They wear a mixture of mail and plate, and a red surcoat emblazoned with a white rose is adorned. They all shuffle into a booth as the head of the group, one with a beard compared to the Dwarves, calls the Bartender for several mugs of ale. Small jokes and insults are given to each other, and a jitter of life and joy is seen in the men. The mugs are brought to the table by a stocky barmaid carrying them on a wooden platter, and several of the men give her interested eyes; not all of them focusing on her face. She slides them across the table and gives a cold stare to one of the men foolish enough to compliment her wonderful, but altogether common dress. With a buzz of jeering from his comrades, he leans back and resigns his efforts on the barmaid, all while the largely bearded man slaps the table a bit to call their attention. "Alright, alright lads, calm yer cawks... I've got an old story to tell ye..." Most of the men smile with interest, all save one, who's swore he heard it at least seven times. "It's about the peasants of Mireton. Vel told it to me." The bearded leader clears his throat, leaning forward as he begins to speak to the men, all attentive, despite one's protest. "It was durin' that great war wiff Solace. In the face of possible disaster, they tried to draft entire villages in Pruvia. Half the serfs knew before an' fled into the woods, but the rest were pressed into service. The Count says, ' These are pansies, not soldiers... but we'll 'ave to make due wiff 'em! We'll put them up front, let the cavalry run them over, MAYBE it'll loosen momentum.' " Several of the men snicker at the thought, the bearded man soon continuing. "So, the battle was on, terrible losses on the left flank, they almost broke our ranks... The serfs dropped their pikes an' ran to the Archer's corpses..." One of the soldiers asks, "Did they start lootin'?" The bearded man barks at him, "Listen! They picked up the bows an' shot at the enemy! I tell you... each shot met a dead man!" One other soldiers nods, commenting with some realization, "Ahhh... those were the serfs from Mireton." The bearded man finishes, nodding and smiling, "Exactleh! Poachin' is in their blood!"

[[Whoa whoa whoa b-b-back up Batman. Noone stated they were a Rose. I can understand maybe assuming it was a Rose, but blatantly telling your men to go interrogate the "Rose" putting up the poster, I'm not sure that's gonna fly. The original poster, which Mathus put up, specifically stated that he didn't sign it, and that there was no way you could prove it was him. He's also not stupid enough to go and post it up in his Rose tabard, that would only kill the purpose of his secrecy. So, I ask that you please refrain from putting our Rose soldiers in places they wouldn't be. Assuming is fine, as long as there's enough reason to it.

The 'umans deserve to 'ave a propah naughty cockney-somfink british accent right they do. Jus' don't know if anyone'll be able to undahstand it.

Thomas strolls along the notice board, glancing over to the apparent petition. With a quick bringing up of a rod of charcoal, he signs onto it in wonderful script, one that took up two lines: Thomas Chivay

Strolling along on a calm walk, Thomas passes by a northern village of Oren, coming across a particular note. Upon closer inspection, he tears the note down, staring to it for a good few moments. It was Adeon who came to break his concentration, and the Baron now looked to him with a grave stare, extending the note to him. "Wossis?" Adeon received it and skimmed it over, eyes widening as his hand began to shake, the paper ruffling slightly. With a slow turn of his gaze to Thomas, they both met in a wide-eyed stare... "BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA!" "RISE UP AGAINST THE WHITE RO-AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" The two guffawed benevolently, lurching over and slapping each other on the body, overcome by the note's text. It didn't take long for the note to pass around the rest of the Rose escort; his bodyguards and Rose soldiers were now tearing in hilarity as they finally ripped it in two, throwing the note into the breeze.

The storm comes rolling in. Skies darken as heavy clouds glide above, intent on releasing its weight of rain down to the world. Below, where the races of Asulon walk, lies the city of Solace, in the Kingdom of Salvus under the Holy Oren Empire. It was here that the storm fast approached, challenging the city’s strongly fortified ramparts with its cracking thunder. But just as the storm above approached, a similar storm was marching on the city, only this one carried order and discipline rather than rain, the cadenced stomping of boots its thunder. This storm of order halted before the gates, the shuffling of plate dying down as the head of the line stepped forward before the iron bars that prevented their path inside. Even over the myriad of sounds a city of such magnitude produced, the shouts and calls from the main square of the city could still be heard. It was here that the storm of order was set to purpose, and with a steady rise of the iron gates and a wave of a hand, the storm surged forward, quickly forming lines to bar anyone’s escape from the city. For a moment, the crowd nearby the gazebo stuttered in its unrest, giving a cautious eye to the storm before them. Was it fear, or simply surprise that caught the mob? One cannot be sure, but it is certain that this storm was quickly recognized. Some fled almost immediately, while others meandered there way away, choosing to avoid the coming conflict. And, with another wave of a gauntleted hand, and the call of an order, the storm surged forward once more, drawing crossbows smoothly and positioning themselves behind one of the hedge rows that lined the gazebo plaza. The storm of order held here, while the storm of rain came rolling in, releasing its own forces down on the world: the rain and thunder from dark clouds. The pattering of water smashing plate was soon heard down the line of the storm of order, whose tabards -- primarily red with white accents and symbol -- soon became a shade darker and heavier from the pattering assault of the rain. The line stood with a stoic stance, staring forward, unwilling to show this rain an inch of advantage, and ultimately focused on their commanders who now began to call forth another order: “Vault! Advance!” And so they followed order, and with a fluid motion the line glided over the hedges, positioning themselves before the next row of hedges, taking aim once more. And by this time those who were in conflict resolved themselves, subduing the brigand, who was no more than a vile creature with a pumpkin as a head. Upon inspection of this creature, this daemon, the order was given to bring it to justice. With another order called, a towering giant of a man stepped easily over the hedge, followed by another, who both headed to apprehend this daemon. Followed by some protest of the onlookers, the giant and companion brought the daemon before the gazebo, fastening it to one of the posts, turning to face the deadly line of crossbows that now took aim. The force of the rain was consistent, it being the only sound penetrating the eerily calming plaza at times. With an order from one of the commanders positioned behind the line, the men tightened their posture, straightening their aim towards the pumpkin-headed daemon, a professional firing line now poised to strike it down. And, with the rise and fall of a hand, and the scream of one word, the line let loose their bolts, sending a terrible volley to the creature, who in turned screeched ferociously as it came to an end; a bloodcurdling scream that unnerved the onlookers, and even some men on the line. For a moment, silence fell the plaza, save the continuous pattering of rain on earth. Another order was called, and the disciplined line surged back to the gates, about facing to the gazebo, drawing swords and standing at attention. Stepping forward now, the giant loomed over the body, closing his eyes and summoning forth an aura that glowed around him. With the calm chant of a spell, the onlookers looked on in both fear and interest, watching as the giant increased in volume, chanting the words in a guttural tone: Da pacem, Domine, in diebus nostris Quia non est alius Qui pugnet pro nobis Nisi tu Deus noster. By the last word, the giant rose his hands, and there struck the daemon’s body, bursting into flames, a fire intense and purposeful. The daemon turned to mere ash soon enough, and the giant marched back to take his place on the line. With the bringing up of the iron gates once more, the commander called out, a final order to the men; their work here finished: “White Rose! Move out!” They marched on without a word, disciplined and professional as ever. The storm of rain was just then receding, but it would return as nature dictates. And just as rain returns, so too will order.

House Chivay is a sparrow - Item unknown Order of the White Rose - Rose

OOC MC Name: Xxusmcsoldier8xX How active can you be?: Active. IC Wot's yeh name?: Zigrin Skraggs-Edgehand How're ye related tae us? (Required to have blood relations, even if it's something as distant as cousin's son or what have ya.): Ah'm a damned cousin, yah 'alf-witted limp prick! Ah didn' like mah toime in Kal'Konmar so ah decided tah come 'ere an' see 'ow you Edgehands ah've been. Wot's yer specialteh?: Ah 'ave the biggest membah in yer aunt's clan. Dey dunt call meh 'King Ziggy' fer nuthin'. How can ye aid us?: Well ah've already brought sum Konmar mead tah drink, an' ah also can flaunt me 'King' around. Do ye swear loyalteh to tae clan?: Ah'course ah do! Ah brought ale, didn't aye? Ah wouldn't even waste dis ale on Nebenezer's balls!