Your vices are in order

[Les Misérables]

Underwood's town hall had once been a warehouse, by the shape of the the boxlike wooden walled rooms. Benjamin Aldebrand, Mayor of thirty years, stood on a small brown and green painted platform affixed with a wide podium. Aldebrand's cheeks and forehead were pale, his eyes crinkled and reddened reflecting the wee hours of the morning.

The mayor licked his lips as he addressed the members of Town Council, a round dozen men and women, all of whom had been permanent residents in Underwood for at least forty years. Grey showed through in all their hair, except those vain enough to use herbal dyes, and Ormeath Zhainguinth who was as bald as a riverstone. They sat on cushioned seats behind stout desks, some shuffling parchment, some sipping tea or spiced wine. A few even had secretaries or assistants in attendance, as if it were an official Council meeting, as if they thought themselves lords and ladies who needed servants.

Well, mayhap we do have a need for lords and ladies at that. Leadership and organisation. Aldebrand thought as he scrubbed a hand through his own thinning grey hair. It was far from a closed council meeting. A group of at least fifty citizens crowded the back of the hall, chatting in clusters or watching in sleepy-eyed silence. Aldebrand clasped capable worker's hands over his respectable politician's paunch and took in a breath. He had spent the past hour discussing the night's violent events with the council members, fielding questions from citizens, and wishing he were back in bed.

"I believe," he said in a tired voice which nonetheless carried to the back corners of the rectangular room, "that he have come to an agreement. Following the murder of Jaliss Evenkeel," a moment of sombre silence followed the deceased elf's name, and even the buzz of whispers from the commoners quieted. After bowing his head for a moment, Aldebrand continued, "we are resolved to employ a new Captain of the Watch immediately. The votes are tallied, and as such I will approach Joshua Breaker Cronen at first light and offer him the position. As to the issues of safety and overpopulation in Underwood, the council will be meet again in--" the Mayor cut off as a barrel-chested dwarf stormed through one of the hall's side doorways, having come from the chamber where Evenkeel's corpse lay, shrouded in linen with his sword at his side.

"May I address the council, Benjamin?" The dwarf's voice was as thunderous as his footfalls as he stepped up on the corner of the stage.

"Of course, Terech, my friend." Aldebrand replied, sidestepping to make room for the dwarf behind the podium. Since standing behind it would have concealed most of his thick body and shaggy beard, Terech Bodorson opted instead to remain at the edge of the stage. An unshielded brazier full of perfumed coals blazed just beside him, throwing flickering light across his craggy, hardened features and causing perspiration to seep from the deep lines on his forehead. Wiping the sweat away with one sleeve of his brown cloak, the dwarf cleared his throat.

"Fellow citizens of Underwood... I feel doubly responsible for the death of my close friend, and for the those wounded and killed among your loved ones. Firstly because I was teaching lessons in the forest when I should have been helping Jaliss fight the assassin, and secondly because I have not stepped in sooner to correct the development of this town into a city."

Bodorson held up both wide palms to quell the wave of murmurs and turning heads which washed from the back to the front of the room. As the men and women in attendance quieted down he curled one hand into a fist the size of a hammerhead and crashed it into his opposite palm.

"We are a part of a nation divided, a nation at war with itself. Thus far we have been content to shelter refugees, feed the hungry and cure the ill, and let the Rangers protect us from the forces of the Empire. But this cannot last! In these times of conflict I hope you will listen to my counsel. I have seen many wars, fought many battles, and I know that before we can have peace in Concordia and all of Corone, we must defeat the oppressors, not hide from them!"

This time the murmurs were louder and more positive, the gleam of action replacing the sleepy glaze in the eyes of many.

"I propose," the head of Ravenheart Academy said, pressing his callused hands together before him, "that you leave the task of appointing a new Captain of the Watch to me. I will find someone who can not only recruit and train more warriors, but who can turn the Watch into a proper fighting force, and army of our own to support the Rangers."

The tinkling of quills dipped rapidly in inkwells and the scratch of nubs over parchment swelled beneath the excited murmurs as secretaries notated what their employers whispered. One member of the council, a woman with a long grey braid wrapped over her shoulder and clutched between both hands, stood up suddenly.

"But if the Watch becomes an army, who will protect our homes by night? The dark assassin could return, and theft is on the rise with the population." Terech Bodorson nodded to her appreciatively and she sat down. He had anticipated the concern, but rather than attempt to explain to the civilians how the presence of a military force could clean up crime in a city on its own, he had something prepared to satiate their worries.

"That is why," he said kindly, losing some of the harshness in his voice, "I also propose we name Joshua Cronen Sheriff and Guardian of Underwood, providing of course that he accepts the position."

The murmurs were quiet and scattered this time, as one by one all twelve of the council members stood and voiced their support of the proposal. Finally the floor fell back to Mayor Aldebrand, who had been near to dozing while leaning against the heavy podium.

Terech stepped off the platform and nodded politely to those he knew, offering brief condolences to any who had lost family as short, stout legs carried him to the back corner of the room. Leaning against the wall in a pool of shadows next to the exit was a silver-haired drow. He was sickly gaunt and had only one arm, bu the eyes of an officer, icy blue eyes that had seen as much death as the winter sky. The barrel of a short musket peered over the drow's shoulder, the long gun lashed to that wasted torso by a heavy canvas strap.

"You speak common?" Terech asked the drow in Aleraran, and got a nod in response.

"My name is Phyr Sa'resh," the old elf said in an immaculate accent, and extended his single arm for an awkward handshake.

"Terech Bodorson, Master of the Ravenheart Academy," the dwarf said, and gestured to the outdoors, where a faint glow of morning had appeared over the tops of Concordia's tallest trees. "Walk with me, Master Sa'resh. I have a proposal for you."

[Les Misérables]

A tired sun gazed upon the dwarf and the drow as they walked in thoughtful silence towards the outskirts of Underwood. Its crimson glare stained the dirt roads and rooftops where Kron Sha'keth's blade had spilled the blood of many. The wind picked sluggishly at tumbleweeds and branches on the fringe of the forest. Oak, poplar, and trakym leaves rattled suspiciously as the needles of pines and yews whispered to one another in their rounded glades. The sound of a bellows belching air onto the forge's coals reached the withered ears of Phyr Sa'resh as he passed a smithy and turned onto the a curving road bordering on the forest.

The drow's entire being ached. He had not slept at all the previous night. After shooting the assassin Phyr had climbed half-way down his makeshift ladder and then lost his footing, pitching the rest of the distance and landing in a painful heap. Some minutes later he'd roused himself to check on Elena and the other occupants of the Last Night's Maiden and, ignoring the willowy brunette's stern-faced demand that he get himself to bed this instant, followed the trails of concerned citizens to the open council meeting.

Remembering Elena's flushed concern for his well-being, and knowing she was curled up safely in the Maiden's staff dormitory steeped Phyr's heart in quiet comfort. He longed to put down the musket and rest his weary shoulder, to sink onto a soft mattress of fresh straw and relinquish his hold on reality. The dwarf's voice split his reverie like a hatchet halving a piece of kindling.

"Y'know Master Sa'resh, I'm not rightly sure which part of this is most preposterous. The fact that a dark elven assassin entered Underwood and killed several good men, or the fact that an older one-armed drow somehow managed to shoot him from wenty paces - with a bloody musket." Terech Bodorson had both bulbous forearms folded across his barrel chest. He moved with a drive and purpose that matched Phyr's long strides easily. They passed a bakery and the scent of sourdough rising in the windows and cranberry scones piping in the oven made the ancient elf's stomach bubble. He licked his lips and glanced forlornly over his shoulder, noting that Bodorson did not react to the enticing aromas.

Curious.

Phyr stopped suddenly and clapped his hand to the eklan butt of his musket, pivoting ninety degrees to face the dwarf. Terech gave a start and jumped back a half pace, right hand going to the belt beneath his heavy brown tabard, before he realised the drow represented no threat and hastily withdrew his arm, ruddy face getting ruddier beneath his thick, dark beard.

I see.

Heaving a long sigh, Phyr wandered into a recently cleared section of forest and sat upon a stump the woodsmen had not uprooted for fuel. The dwarf followed but stayed a respectful distance away, bulging arms once more crossed over his chest.

"I am certain it is clear to you the kind of hardships the years have visited upon me," Phyr said, waggling his stump of an arm and shrugging in such a way that his entire spine popped, one vertebrae at a time. "I can see in your eyes and your step that you have been subject to your own. As a fellow wise leader, I can only imagine my experience affords me some respect in your eyes." Phyr's eyelids felt heavy but he enunciated each syllable to perfection.

"It does at that," Terech Bodorson said with a curt nod. "The state you're in, just gettin' yourself atop that inn would be enough to graduate my tactical combative class." The dwarf clicked his tongue, as if to say that he had already given his opinion on Sa'resh's incredible accuracy with a firearm designed for two hands.

"My thanks," Phyr said, inclining his head lower in return, "Then I would ask, respectfully, that we avoid the inevitable part of this conversation where you accuse me of being in league with the assassin who attacked last night. I fear my frail bones might not survive the interrogation."

Bodorson snorted at frail bones but seemed taken aback. Phyr wondered if the dwarf really had been planning to question him, then banished the thought and ploughed onward.

"I will of course reciprocate this respect in confessing all I know. The assassin's name is Kron Sha'keth, and he is in the employ of the Empire's Coalition, although he was trained in Alerar. He is responsible for smuggling technology into Radasanth and killing secretly in the name of the Empire, but I fear he came to Underwood last night seeking vengeance... seeking me."

A boiling rage flashed through Bodorson's eyes as he realised the drow sitting before him was responsible for death of Jaliss Evenkeel. Whatever the dwarf felt though, he suppressed as rapidly as it appeared. Phyr inhaled, realising he had stopped breathing for a moment, and continued.

"I was the only one, aside from Sha'keth and his underlings, who witnessed the smuggling operation and lived to tell of it. I covered my tracks and fled here, but it seems it is... difficult to go about unnoticed in this nation." Phyr's legs felt as though a welder had begun filling them with liquid steel the moment he sat down. Rising, he shook the numbness out and resumed their original path along the beaten road. Terech, who actually seemed amused at the last comment, kept pace easily.

"I would surely be dead," Phyr said as they made a large loop around a bustling open air market, "had I not met Joshua Cronen moments before Sha'keth arrived. He has fought the assassin on numerous occasions, and quite apart from saving my life, his actions may have lessened the butcher's bill considerably. Sha'keth cares not for preventing collateral damage, and left to his own devices he might have set the inn afire just to see if I ran out." Quite abruptly, Phyr realised they had arrived on the exact spot where Kron had taken the girl Rose Vasston - on the road between the Promenade and the Maiden.

Wondering arbitrarily if it was a result of his own subconscious or subtle influence from the dwarf that guided them there, Phyr stopped and faced Bodorson once more, fingering the bandage-wrapped laceration on his throat..

"But I do not wish to sidestep the heart of the issue. I owe a great debt to the people of Underwood for bringing Sha'keth's wrath upon them, and I will not rest until it is repaid."

Phyr leaned his back against the sturdy wooden siding of the Maiden and closed his eyes. Well, I may rest for just a moment

"I believe we can come to an arrangement." Terech's voice seemed distorted and far away...

[Breaker]

The sun rose and set six times, beaming down not on a transient forest town, but a small City under the watch of a growing free militia. By day refugees from towns conquered by the Empire flowed in, red eyed and bloodstained often as not. Some were starving and wore smallclothes or less, trembling tongues pushing stories of Imperials stripping and exiling those who refused their rule past cyanotic lips. The feet of those without boots were mangled by their harrowing flight through the woods, blackened by the ashes of torched livelihood. In the eyes of all a fire raged, a fire ignited by the Coalition's greed and fed by the Empire's might. It consumed them to the man, woman, elf and dwarf, and like iron on the anvil of a master blacksmith it melded them into something more. A force that could strike like a viper from its den, the last bastion of freedom in Corone.

Joshua Cronen could smell their determination as he strode the beaten soil streets of Underwood. The little city pulsed with activity, every inhabitant going about their work with fierce determination, driving towards a time when they could return to their homes and live as they pleased. The number of new recruits to the Watch seemed to grow exponentially, dozens of able-bodied beings arriving each day, followed by a smaller trickle each night. Cronen passed the limits of Underwood proper, smelling stone dust on the air as he skirted the foundations of a wall commissioned by the Council. Even in the early hours of the morning masons worked diligently as labourers wheeled massive chunks of rock in from nearby quarries. One of the Watch's regular patrols made way for Joshua, a group of young men who saluted him by holding their long pikes at the ready and touching the symbol emblazoned on their tunics. It was a crossed sword and halberd sheltered beneath intricately designed trees. Josh acknowledged their respect with a nod and moved on, past the ring of tents and outbuildings that encircled the town like a halo of life. These made up the barracks and training yard of the militarised Watch, and had been tactically arranged according to Captain Sa'resh's orders. Any force attacking the city would first have to find their way through the haphazard arrangement of lightweight structures. Arrow slits and hidden doors abounded on those shelters like the latest architectural fashion from Akashima. The sounds of wooden practice weapons clacking together and officers bellowing orders swirled throughout the area as Cronen navigated the confusing scatterplot of tents and outbuildings.

He vaulted over an outward-facing rack of long cyper tree trunks carved into stakes and set at a forty-five degree angle. Similar stands surrounded the outer ring of Underwood so the city bristled like a hedgehog. Designed to repel a cavalry charge, the fire hardened points looked sharp and hard, dangerous. They would not hold off a full-scale invasion, but could prevent an Imperial army from crushing the outbuildings in a single sweeping manoeuvre. Satisfied with his survey of the defences, Cronen continued along a root-strewn forest path that led to a wide clearing.

A granite slab taller than a horse identified the cemetery as the final resting place of those who fell protecting Underwood. It bore a ledger, letters chiselled into the rock and dyed crimson, spelling the names of every body that lay in Althanas' final embrace. The most recent names, headed by Jaliss Evenkeel, still looked damp like the cheeks of a mourning maiden. Looking out over the rows of tombstones and grave markers, the guilt Cronen had borne like a penance for six days finally waned. The memories of men dying in the streets, of Rose Vasston's head lolling back above a spray of sickly sweet blood, faded as nausea gripped the Ascended. For an instant he could see the ghostly images of more gravestones, dozens, hundreds more, filling the cemetery to capacity and beyond. In his mind's eye trees were felled and hauled away to make space for more markers, a second and third ledger added to the front of the clearing. For the space of a blissful moment, the pain of what would be veiled the guilt of what was. Kneeling in the loam with a palm pressed to the tomb of Jaliss Evenkeel, Cronen found a moment of peace, like the swell between a wave and its back-drag.

"Hoped I could find you here." The wind carried Phyr's surprisingly smooth voice across the clearing. Josh glanced up, then rose. He saw the irregular shapes of men camouflaged in the forest either side of Sa'resh, who stood at the mouth of clearing next to the ledger-stone. Josh strained his ears and picked up the sounds of their breathing, the slightest creak of leather armour. He smelled their sweat through the freshness and decay of the forest. As the sun sprang from behind a cloud he spotted a red armband on one of the hiders. They called themselves the Crimson Guard, a grouping of officers who acted as their Captain's bodyguard. "I have something for you." The ancient drow said as he paced along a row of marble markers, a cloth bundle cradled beneath his stump, hardwood cane clutched in his hand. It made more noise than all the members of the Crimson Guard combined, thumping along repeatedly in the loam. Josh smiled as he pressed his palms together and offered Phyr a nod of respect. The drow had done amazing things in his six day reign as Captain of the Watch.

He could be the one that leads these people to freedom. Phyr's previously tangled silver hair was combed and held back by a fine velvet beret. He wore no rags, but a black woolen cloak over a fine sifan cloth shirt and breeches. His cloak bore the crest of the Watch on one breast and the sword-crossed-rifle of the Rangers on the other, displaying his rank. The thick-barrelled musket still peered over his good shoulder, its canvas strap replaced by braided black vlince. Cronen inhaled and smelled the gunpowder and oil from the musket, and the soap from Sa'resh's recent wash.

"I've patrolled the forest these past few days," he said by way of explanation, "I can move faster than a Ranger with two good horses. Luckily no one else has seen or heard of Kron Sha'keth this side of Radsanth. That's where he went, I'd guess. Found a bit of his blood six leagues north of here. Bastard probably shadow-skipped until he got back to his masters." Josh shrugged and simply stood expectantly, hands relaxed at his sides.

"Good riddance," Phyr mumbled as he brought his cane to the ground mightily. The tip stuck, and the gnarled azure hand separated a garment from the bundle between his stump and slim chest. "Elena found this in the dining room, after you ran outside to save our lives," Phyr said, handing over the poncho, and following it with a leather hat. "This, too."

"Elena? That the pretty-eyed wisp of a woman who badgers you to eat more soup?" Josh stared at the poncho and three-pointed hat for a moment, then donned them. They made him fit in, for he was the only man in Underwood who went about in shirtsleeves so late in the season. As the top of the poncho cleared his head he saw the last item Phyr offered; a curved dagger in a midnight sheathe.

Cronen accepted the weapon and bared an inch of its black diamond edge. He had only seen that blade twice before; embedded in Evenkeel's gut six nights prior, and another time months before. Shynt Sha'keth, the brother of Kron, had wielded that dagger the night Cronen bested both assassins and slew Shynt in the northern quarter of Radasanth. The dagger, it seemed, had travelled all the way from the mines of Kachuk to insist upon being his.

"Some of the villagers brought it to Elena, and she gave it to me last night," Phyr explained, "seems they thought you should have it by way of thanks-"
"Thanks?" Cronen said, so forcefully that the hiders rustled the trees with barely bridled aggression. The Ascended quieted his voice 'till it reached only Sa'resh's pointed ears. "I brought them devastation and the death of a leader. And they'd thank me for-"
"It was I Kron followed to this place-" Phyr interjected, but Cronen spoke through his words in a stinging whisper.
"Yes, Sa'resh. He followed you, and if not for me he would have killed you and left this place in peace. And that's beside the fact I should have finished him when I had the chance." Cronen re-sheathed the blade, and as he added it to his belt noticed for the first time a golden star pinned on the shoulder of his poncho. So be it. The star would remind him of the people he was indebted to, the dagger of his past failings.

Phyr Sa'resh closed the space between them with long, confident strides, and gripped Cronen's biceps in his gnarled hand. The drow's azure eyes met the Ascended's hazel ones, colours like a calm evening at sea.

"We must forget the matter of fault and shame," Sa'resh said, and the spirit of a much younger Captain crackled in his voice. "Instead of steeping in our guilt, we must do all we can to make this right. We must set this nation free. Sheriff. I will find a way to defeat their armies, so long as you protect us from their spies and assassins." Energy swirled and danced in Cronen's eyes, and then he clapped Phyr on the shoulder hard enough that the old drow shuddered and winced.

"Agreed."

The wind changed, leaves cackling throughout the great forest Concordia.

Spoils:

Phyr Sa'resh gains a heavy Aleraran musket made from titanium and black eklan, complete with an iron ramrod and braided vlince shoulder strap. Also gains 6 steel musket balls wrapped in paper cartridges with enough gunpowder for one shot each and a small leather kit of gun maintenance tools.

Joshua Cronen gains a masterwork black diamond skinning knife in a vlince sheathe. It is stiletto shaped and slightly curved, designed for deep incisions and stripping the hide off of flesh.

The story of Josh and Rose continues in Baby This Night.

[Yari Rafanas]

Your vices are in order

When I was first assigned this thread, I was feeling a bit cautious on how to approach it. I can only describe Numbers' style as 'thick' and precise. I knew I was in for a long read, and I wanted to make sure it got my full attention, so I unfortunately had to split my reading into two chunks. After my first night with the thread, I was hooked, and found myself wanting to come back and finish it the next day. Great read, and a great start to my weekend.

Story: 8.5
I wanted to score this category higher but I had a few problems with how things got started at the beginning of the thread. I get that Josh was there doing whatever he could to blend in and get a feel for the crowd/gather information, but I still felt as though it was missing something. One of the most interesting portions of the incognito bit was the exchange with the drug dealer, but had some problems with Joshua as a character during this section (which I'll address later.)

However, the rest of the thread was real quality stuff. The action in the middle was great and the Underwood growth at the end gave purpose to the bloodshed. I probably would have just written the battle and left Underwood in the same sorry lumbertown state, but you did more with it.

Continuity: 9
This type of development of Althanas lore and extreme attention to detail is what more threads need. Constant references to common Althanian places, some obscure history, and the development of Concordia's most famous town really skyrocketed your score and connected me to the thread. This is not a stab against your solo efforts, but I would have given 10 in this category had more than 1 player helped play out this important development in Underwood's description and status. The wonderfuly described birth of a 'new' Underwood is not going to be read by everybody, and will now only be detailed as a small blurb in a forum description. Nobody will quite have the same idea of just what caused Underwood to jump up in arms without reading this, and sadly that will lead to most players ignoring it.

Setting: 10
Aww yeah, Underwood perfection.

Creativity: 7
It was an interesting idea to have the 1-post cameo and hope that it can blossom into a bit more in the future, but ultimately I felt it fell kinda flat with me. Very, very nice imagery in your writing though.

Character: 7
I kept my notepad up while reading and was so interested in the thread that the only note I managed to write down it seems was “Batman exit.” Josh's character is consistent, stealthy, and hardcore, and I really enjoy learning just a bit more about how he works, but I'm still waiting to see what's under that demigod exterior. I am also not too sure what his overall goal is, and just where he stands on issues. I mentioned the drug dealer earlier, and the part that bugged me was “Why did he have knock out the drug dealer?” Does he have a vendetta against narcotics or something?

Phyr on the other hand is probably one of the cooler drow I've seen on Althanas. Even though you describe him as this frail, beaten, and old warrior he still comes off as very accomplished. It seems you may have become comfortable with describing Josh's exploits as some of the descriptions and methodical behavior of Phyr seemed a bit too similar.

Interaction: 9
All I can say here is that I felt and heard almost every moment of the thread. You pay an almost excruciating amount of attention to the little things which give the world its weight.

Strategy: 7

Clarity: 8
Had to read through some parts twice, sometimes a whole paragraph to get the full picture. Sometimes you would slip in a juicy tidbit that was lost in the flow of your writing and I wanted to make sure I didn't miss anything important. All the combat was fast-paced and easy to follow, though.

Mechanics: 9
There were parts that seemed a bit rushed, a couple missing letters, but nothing major.

Wildcard: 7
Two times I got goosebumps.

Total: 81.5

EXP
016573 gains 2,385 EXP
Les Misérables gains 1200 EXP
CaitieGirl gains 80 EXP

Loot
Joshua keeps the nasty knife - a masterwork black diamond skinning knife in a vlince sheathe. It is stiletto shaped and slightly curved, designed for deep incisions and stripping the hide off of flesh.

However, regardless of the goosebump-inducing read and the fact that Phyr only has one arm, I cannot approve of a firearm spoil for a level 0 character—especially a high quality, titanium firearm that was able to cause such a fearsome opponent to run for his life. I realize that it's tied rather closely to the story of the thread, so I would hate to void its existence, so I suggest that the weapon be stored away in the Underwood Watch's armory, where it will rest until it is needed again.

edit: Rewards added.