Marineking

Registration is now CLOSED. Please do not PM me any more character sheets unless you have something really interesting in mind.

This RP is based loosely on a novel I'm in the process of writing (Well... formulating, really), and I thought it would be fun to make an RP out of it. The story itself will take place hundreds of years before my actual story, and I will be using little of anything from this RP in my story. If you don't want me using anything in your posts (Which I probably won't but I figured I should mention this anyway) on the slim chance it will get published, just say so. I've no intent of plagiarizing anyones ideas.

This post will be somewhat long, since I have to explain the magic system and time lines and such. It's kind of convoluted as of yet.

Background Information: The place our story takes place is the nation of Mayodan, a country still ruled by a feudal system of kings and nobles. Technically Mayodan is a rich land, with lush forests and plentiful iron mines and nearly endless stretches of perfect farmland, but while it is the peasants, or common folk, who do all the work, every technically belongs to the King, and in lieu, to the nobles. As such most of the population lives in poverty and under oppression, the populace kept in line by fear and a religion of sorts that immortalizes work and servitude. Bloodlines between the nobles and the commoners are strictly guarded, the punishment for a commoner fraternizing with someone of noble blood being a year and a day of public torture and then death, the punishment for the noble varying depending on the family rank. Things go peacefully until a discovery is made by a certain man (To be mentioned) and certain events (To occur) propagated by certain people (to be made up). To keep this short I'll add whatever details are needed as we go along, but for now this should be good enough to paint a decent picture of the world.

Magic System: Magic is certainly allowed but very different from most fantasy stories. "Magic" is technically just an innate ability in all beings to draw on and control the powers of nature and the universe. Technically all creatures can do it to some unconscious extent, but only humans have the conscious intellect to take advantage of it fully, and even then only certain people are strong enough to do anything at all (The rate of magic-using humans is, say, 1 in 20, just for reference), and even then only very little things. For significant magic use, "circles," or magic drawings and symbols, are needed to "draw" power from the elements for bigger things then someone can to with their innate talents. (This is a very simplistic explanation that I came up with because I don't have the time here to explain it as I would in a novel, so I'm just going to issue some limitations and try to guide everyone as we go alone).

Basically, average to strong magic users are able to do simple things on their own like draw heat to create small flames and manipulate the air to accomplish tasks (Picking up objects, creating minor gusts, etc), and they need to use Circles to do more, which could be anything from creating giant firestorms to creating portals across the different planes of existence, but instead of spending three paragraphs telling you the rules I'm just going to ask that you have a little moderation, fireballs and energy-bolts are okay, be creative, but no all-consuming lightning storms or demon summoning. Major magical events will be guided by me (Either through my character or through an NPC). As for the different magical Circle, be creative, go ahead and make up descriptions if you want or just say "he drew a small circle," whatever, it doesn't really matter, except that circles disappear after being used, as well as anything that the circle was drawn on or with. And just for quick reference... spells made of liquid Circles are not as strong as those made of solid materials, but last longer, and vice versa. Blood is stronger then water, chalk better then ink, etc.

Rules: Technology is mostly medieval (For now... Ahem), swords and bows and catapults. Horses are restricted to use by nobles and soldiers, commoners make due with mules and oxen. Mercenaries are non-existent, as possession of any blatant weapons (Such as a sword or halberd) is treason. knives, bows and spears are allowed though, as they are commonly used for tasks other then soldiering. Life in Mayodan for the commoners is harsh, while life for nobles is lavish (Though potentially more dangerous, as I will explain to anyone who wishes to become one). Soldiers are somewhere in between, they are recruited from common ranks but are thoroughly brainwashed and indoctrinated as children (Which is when they are recruited) to feel no kinship with them and view nobles and something close to the holy.

I've decided to use a more common character sheet this time, as many people seem to like them, but when you PM me your characters be sure to include at least one paragraph of an opening post along with it so I get some idea of your writing style. I want posts to have good grammar and content, with posts being at least one paragraph long at least unless we get into a conversation-scene or some such. ((And remember new-comers, when writing things, don't forget add embellishment. The man did not "run down the hall to fight with his enemy", he "thundered down the expanse of hallway to clash with his snarl-faced opponent, sword held high and a fierce
battle cry bellowing out from his lungs"))

Name: (If you need an explanation for this, please don't bother PMing me)

Age (Ditto)

Class: (What social class are you, Peasant, Soldier or Noble? Sorry, no taking the king position. And beyond that, what are you? A farmer or artisan, an archer or halberdier? In the case of the nobles this could be a bit vague, as nobles do... everything. They have no real "jobs" as much as, depending on your seniority in your House, you have certain duties.)

Appearance: (Please no images, text descriptions only)

Skills and Strengths: (Self explanatory. What does your character do? Is he a knife fighter? A stone carver? Or does he know an ancient type of martial arts?)

Background info: (A very brief history on what and who your character is, try to keep it in the one paragraph range if you can, but don't hold back if you think you need to describe him/her better)

Weapons(If any): (Anything Medieval era will do, with respect to your class. Obviously Commoners can't have anything more then knives, spears or bows, etc, and little if any formal education in fighting, while soldiers can be anything from swordsmen to catapult-operators)

Alrighty then, I think thats enough, lets get started. As I said before, PM me your character sheets and opening posts before entering. When I think there are enough people, I'll make a post detailing where and if we meet and get the story rolling. For now though, it doesn't really matter where you characters are as long as they are in the Capital City (Outside the walls for commoners, inside for nobles and the fort for soldiers and such).

*EDIT*

Okay, as usual, my patience has run out, so I'm going to get this thing started and hope more people join later. Here is my character and post.

****

Name: Mayodore Varimos

Age: 32

Class: Wandering Blacksmith

Appearance: Tall and wiry, with long legs and broad shoulders with muscled arms. He has an angular face, with a sharp nose and out-thrust jaw, with dark eyes and short cropped jet-black hair. His long-coats are made of sturdy brown wool or leather, and he wears knee-length black leather boots.

Skills and Strengths: He his skilled at fighting with a quarter-staff and the long (Supposed) work-knife at his belt. Having a natural endurance, he is a strong runner and his long legs give him an advantage in close-quarters with either of his weapons, or none. He is also an accurate knife or dart thrower.

Background info: Mayodore's father was a blacksmith and he helped him as an apprentice from the age of eight, his mother mended clothes for an extra profit when money was short. His parents were the descendants of a long line of revolutionaries, and though none in the past were successful, Mayodore grew up with tales of how, hundreds of years before, men were free and food was plentiful and few lived in poverty. As such he grew up with an innate hatred of Nobles and Soldiers both, and he learned from his uncle how fight with quarter-staff and knives, weapons that could be easily concealed or mistaken for common tools.When he came of age he left his village, with hopes of finding a way to bring back those peaceful days of old. He wandered from border to border, working as a blacksmith for weeks or months in villages he passed through. It took him nearly eleven years, but at a village located at the base of Mayodan's lone volcano, he discovered something he was sure would buy his people freedom. He spent the next four years planning, waiting, readying.

Weapons: A hard oak quarterstaff, long knife, and four other shorter knives for throwing hidden about his body.

****

Capital City was bordered to the north by the great Meledan Mountains, much of the city sprawling over the low hills to the south. The walled middle, the actual city itself, was built in four quarters, each one housing buildings made of various different materials, depending on Noble rank and wealth. In the North Quarter, buildings were made of marble and the roads were lined with various trees and other greenery, each mansion having a courtyard and private garden, fountains and statues giving walkers something to rest their eyes on. The East Quarter was only a bit less fabulous, the buildings were still made of marble and the streets were still lined with trees, but there were few courtyards in the manors here, and the only garden was located in a public park borders the entrance to the Kings Palace. In the West Quarter, things were more obviously different, housing the minor Noble houses and various wealthy merchant families, the building were made of brick, and no trees or statues lined the street. The buildings were still well made though, in the harsh, angular Mayodan fashion, and they had their own park to enjoy, if less fabulous. The South Quarter housed The Fortress, were the cities garrison of two thousand Soldiers made their housing, and guarded the only gate that gave entrance into the inner-city quarters. Directly outside the main gate of the Southern Quarter, the city market grounds bustled regularly with merchant wagons and peddlers, and bedraggled hawkers marched up and down the now dirt-roads, shouting their wares of meat-pies and charms and a multitude of other services. The first wooden manors lined this area, built by the less wealthy merchant families, and from then on the city expanded southward, some sections little more then slums, while others had sewer systems of a fashion, all built by commoners and other peasants seeking to live under the protection, such as it was, of the great Capital City.

Mayodore walked down one of the dirt streets of the Outer City, as it was called by those living in it, defiantly straight-backed while most those around him walked slumped over under the weight of whatever troubles they were facing this week, walked with purpose past patrols of soldiers armed with steel lances, not deigning to even acknowledge their presence, walked as briskly as ever toward his destination. He was wearing his finest today, a cotton-lined leather longcoat over his white cotton shirt and brown trousers. His belt-buckle was worked lightly with silver in the shape of a hawk, and the polished quarterstaff at his side was new, worked with fanciful designs at the middle and ends. People probably thought him a merchant, if a less then successful one, but his business was not gold. This day, his business was revolution. Or at least he hoped.
Finally, he came to his destination, a couple streets off of the Market District. A sign over the door carried the ironic name of "Kings Mercy," with the picture of a crowned man touching a peasant on his shoulder. In pardon, Mayodore supposed. He stepped into the quiet inn and scanned the room. Martha, the innkeeper, kept a quiet place, her two large nephews tossing out anyone who made even the slightest trouble. If it wasn't exactly prosperous, it was not falling to pieces either. The tables were polished and the floor was swept, the walls were whitewashed and the hearth carried a lively flame, fighting against the days chill. Scattered patrons sat the the table near the hearth, chatting quietly over watered wine or cheap ale, and a flutist in the corner played a soft tune. He shared a meaningful look and a small smile with the innkeeper, and then took a seat at one of the corner tables. Several of the people he wanted to see were already there, he simply had to wait, and hope, for the others to come and not a squadron of soldiers to haul them all off the the dungeons of The Fortress.

((Thats your queue guys, whether your characters know of the meeting or not, try to get them over to the Inn if your not a noble or some such.))

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JudgementXD

Name: Lloyd Gordon

Age: 27

Class: Peasant-Farmer.

Appearance: Lloyd is 6 feet tall and quite well built since he works on his farm day in and day out. He is unmarried but is beginning to think of establishing a family to help him out on the farm. Lloyd has brown eyes, short, brown hair and has a close cut beard.

Skills and Strengths: No real strangths or skills since, as a peasant he has worked on his farm all his life with nearly no time for leisure. Although when he was still a child he enjoyed fighting with sticks with the other children. This caused more than a few bruises but the more he had, the faster they seemed to heal.

Background info: Even though life as a peasant was hard it was good, or at least, that's what Lloyd thought. He lived quite happily with his parents although the nobles became more and more demanding and taxes were continually rising. His father and some of his fellow farmers went to argue to the king about this but they never came back. One week later the king announced that whomever complained about taxes would taste the blade of his swordsmen. After his speech a group of soldiers appeared carrying corpses of peasants, the same that had gone to the king a week earlier.

Lloyd's father had been disembowled completely and he was completely covered in blood. Lloyd was only 9 at the time and the sight of his father changed his life forever...

His mother died when Lloyd was 20 of fever and his best friend was accused of treason to the crown for owning a sword. Ever since then Lloyd has been very reserved, only talking to people if it was completely necessary.

Weapons: Lloyd has a scythe which he uses for farming, he has never used it on a man, however.

****

Another sunny day, like any other. Lloyd had worked on his farm for most of the day and now it was getting late, he was heading towards the marketplace in search for some cheap meat. But just when he stepped out of his very humble abode he saw a group of soldiers taking away his neighbour whom had his hands tied up and a black hood covering his face. Lloyd knew all too well what that meant, execution. The neighbour's wife and children were behind filled with tears. Another sword... Recently there had been a large number of farmers around the area that had been taken away because of treason to the king. Some Lloyd knew personally and was sure that they wouldn't be foolish enough to betray the king...or would they? Thoughts ran through his mind as he walked around the market place hoping to find something at an affordable price.

Nothing! Lloyd had spent quite some time looking but everything cost too much, at least for him. He would have to make due with bread for the time being. Lloyd approached a nearby inn, "Kings Mercy" it was called...but Lloyd cared little about the name, all he wanted was some ale, which was all he could afford at the moment...He entered the inn and took a seat.

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Clouds2High

Name: Valen Orkan

Age: 19

Class: Peasant: Caridge Lifter( Not sure what their actually called.)

Appearance: A man of normal height, standing at 6'2". He is very muscular from the enourmous amount of hard labor he does daily. This and the fact that he trains his body constantly has made him a formidable fighter in his village. He wears old and worn clothing of a greenish beige color and brown leather cuffs around each wrist to hide his scars. Hazel brown eyes and well tanned skin. His hair is dark brown and strung back in a ponytail.

Skills and Strengths: He trains his body constantly without many breaks since he was a child, this has given him a great amount of physical strength, but nothing abnormal. His true strength comes from what little magic ability he has, he gathers particles of stone and sand around him to harden his body or give him an extra boost in strength.

Background info: When he was a boy his family and entire village was slaughtered and he was sent to a slaver who sold him to an old nobelman who saw fit to use him for his sons punishment, torturing the boy when the nobleman's son had done something of poor taste. The nobelman's son who was obviously unaffected by the tortured boy's screams taunted him and humiliated him till his spirit was close to breaking.

One night Valen woke up to see that his chains were missing, he looked around for clues and saw a message written on the stone floor that read."Your free now, go out and make your life your own... behind you there is a circle, concentrate on the circle and say break and you shall have your freedom." Valen uttered the words softly as he brought all his attention to the stone wall, the wall began to slowly crack and break apart, but instead of hearing loud bangs and crashes it was completely silent. He made his way past the guards and the front gates where a man sat on horse back and said," come with me now boy, I will bring you to a land where you can live your life without restraint..." They rode off into the distance without so much as a glance at his old prison.

Weapons(If any): He carries a large carving knife around his waste, but rarely uses it.

Starter Post: (( This is the style of RPing i use normally so i hope it's alright.))

"Clang!... clang!.. clang!..."

The soldier brought his sword to his hand after every step while circling a young lady of the village, he looked disgusted at what he saw as if this girl didn't deserve the honor of looking at his feet. She raised her head to get a look at the soldiers face and he immediately threw her face into the cold and wet mud, there was a gasp that seemed to echo through out the town square.

" STEALING FROM THE KING IS FORBIDDEN YOU DISGUSTING PIG!!! YOU BELONG IN THIS FILTH! YES! YOU VERMIN LOVE THIS MESS DONTCH'A!! HAHAHA!"

The soldier continued to rub her face in the mud and occasionally kicking her around, she curled up and held herself as she was brutaly humiliated infront of her family and friends. Valen clenched his fists and started to shake, he seemed to be having an internal battle. If he saved the girl than it would mean certain death for him, but if he let her be she would meet the same fate. He slowly walked over to the soldier and grabbed his wrist as he lifted his sword to strike the girl.

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!!! HOW DARE YOU TOUCH ME YOU PIECE OF TRASH!! UNHAND ME IMMEDIATELY!!"

" This girl meant no disrespect towards our king, she's hungry... we all are. I'll pay for the fruit so please leave her be."

Valen tightened his grip and the soldier dropped his sword and began to squirm around in pain. Everyone looked around in amazement and fear as Valen did what they believed was the impossible... standing up to one of the kings soldiers meant certain death in this land. The girl looked up at her saviour and smiled softly. The soldier began to speak in a cracky yet understandable voice.

"Y-youv'e broken it... my arm is broken... you'll be dead by sunset and i will see to it personally.. you-you slave boy!!!"

These words seemed to hit a nerve. Valen twisted the soldier's arm with immense force and shattered it. The soldier screamed in agony as he was thrown head first into a marble archway. The soldier fell to the ground like a rag doll, he died instantly.
Valen ran off into the distance knowing that he would meet his painful demise in time, the least he could do at the moment was keep the townsfolk safe by staying as far away from them as he could.

Icy

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As soon as the young man made his run in the crowd, the young officer slowly gained his spear and halted the runner's action.

“Quite a hero there isn't it?"

Staying at a safe distance from the man, Tenh's smile could be seen under his mask.

“Do you know what awaits those who assaulted a soldier in this place?"

He gently rubbed the tip of his spear around the neck of the muscular man who seemed to be very well trained fighter.

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Shattered Skies

((All approved through PM))

Name: Kerkain "Shattered" Brailen VII

Age: 21

Class: Master Artisan

Appearance: Standing only a mere five foot nine inches he didnt stand out in a crowd of his friends. Compared to the men he worked next to he looked small and insignificant. His arms showed muscle but it didnt look like enough to hammer the iron castings he made daily. His hands didnt show signs of callousing from holding his hammer and constant use near the forge. They were strong hands but delicate hands capable of turning bars of iron into the strongest of armor plating or most well balanced of weapons. He has broad shoulders for a man of his small stature. The only noticeable thing about his face are his dark hazel eyes, and he sports a long scar that travels his face from the top of his forehead near to his left eye down his cheek and ending at his jawline. Hes always seen wearing a bluish black shirt that covers most of his upper body and a lighter bluish black pair of pants held up by a pure black belt with various stitchings carved into the leather belt. He wears a pair of pure black boots that also have various stitchings engraved into them.

Skills and Strengths: There hasn't been a thing that he could not create. He has an innate ability to study an object and figure the way it works and duplicate it, more often then not perfect and better that object. He is capable of etching, engraving, or marking the objects he creates with symbols or artifacts and give them very intriguing attributes. Hes got a fortitude and stamina unlike anyone he knows and is able to outperform any of the men hes forced to work with.

Background info: The heritage of Kerkain's history is only known through the minds of his family. Generation after generation his family has been strict artisans any one relative capable of making whatever was expected of them without error and often more then expected results. Kerkain is the seventh generation in his line and the last that he knows. When Kerkain was young, barely the age of 10, the village he was living in was attacked by a scourge of the Kings Swordsmen for not paying taxes and formulating plans to rebel against the king. Kerkain's mother, father, and his two older brothers were killed in the onslaught when they tried to help defend the village. After the massacre of his village, Kerkain picked up the hammer his father had dropped and went to the forge and began finishing up the sword his father was working on. One of the nobles came to the forge and seen what he was doing and ordered his men to take the life from Kerkain. As soon as they were close enough, Kerkain hit the blade of the sword which looked like nothing but the flick of his wrist, destroying the blade of the sword, sending shards of iron into the bodies of the approaching swordsman. The noble shocked at what he seen, decided rather to take Kerkain for his own and exploit the talents of this boy. He quickly became known throughout the company of his captors as Shattered for what he did with the sword. Shattered created the clothing he now wears and gave it attributes that only himself is capable of using. Hes was also forced by his captor to make a weapon that would give him superiority over the battlefield and his enemies. Hes never since created anything of a magical nature. He now works as the Head and Master Artisan for a ranking noble creating the arms and weapons needed to equip the army of the King.

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Shattered watched in disbelief as to what this man just did to a swordsman of the Kings army. "How foolish of a man to condemn his own life for this woman who we had watched and was seen taking fresh apples from the stands of multiple merchants", he thought strictly to himself. "Not only will she be punished anyway, but this man will likely end up being killed for not just humiliating one of the Kings men, but for killing him no less." "Foolish, foolish peasant man", Shattered muttered under his breath quiet from the ears of the men and women around him.

"Do you know what awaits those who assaulted a soldier in this place?", said the ranking noble officer who witnessed this attack. He began slowly rubbing his spear against the mans neck. The noble kept him a fair distance away.

The man did not speak to the noble.

Shattered walked briskly to the nobles side and leaned in to him and whispered, "Sire, your soldier was out of line and was putting the law into his own hands, if it was a peasant man, we would have killed him the same for treason." The officer looked sternly at Shattered. He took a slight bow and took a few strides away from the officer, never turning his back on him, hoping his words might spare a mans life, or at least put change into the mans future. He could fight, very well in fact.

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shadowsworn

Name: Telthan Drymnos (the "a" is sharp as in "ack" or "tack", and the last name is pronounced "Drim - no(the "o" pronounced like "oats" or "toast")ss")

Age: 26

Class: Noble, primarily a magic worker of some skill, although has studied knife fighting and fencing to some degree. Manages some of his house's mercantile endeavours.

Appearance: A slender young man with long blonde hair kept in the latest fashion. He is slightly pale from spending most of his time inside, although some freckles appear on his face, partiularly when he is smiling or laughing. He lost the tip of one finger on his left hand in a magical accident in his early teens.

He is slender, weighing about 120 pounds, and being about 5'7". His eyes are a pale grey.

He wears tall slim black leather boots and breeches, and a white shirt under a dark red surcoat vest type thing (sorry, I'm awful at describing clothing, he dresses like a young noble sort-of-fop with taste, ok). Currently he is wearing a finely cut dark green cloak to keep away the chill of the city in autumn.

Skills and strengths: See class I suppose.

Background: House Drymnos is one of the middle houses in the city's hierarchy. Telthan was second of four children born to his parents. He has grown up in and been taught about the intricacies and treacherous nature of noble life, and in his teens, as his father's helath waned, he began to take on more of the responsibilites of managing his house's day-to-day enterprises.

Underneath his exterior, which often seems shallow or hedonistic, Telthan is a shrewd social manipulator and politician. He has few true friends, as he doesn't trust most people enough to share his secrets and thoughts with them.

Telthan has found out through some sources about rumours of a revolution, and although he doesn't believe that such a thing could ever succeed, believes that it could be manipulated and used for the good of House Drymnos.

Weapons: Telthan mosly depends on his spells, although he does keep an emerald jewelled dagger hidden about his person.

**********

Telthan watches Mayodore enter the inn through a narrow doorway, and takes a thoughtful sip of a mug of beer. He and one other are sitting in one of the back rooms of the bar, slightly away from the main room.

"That's one of them?" he says quietly.

The other man, tall, with a greying moustache and black hair, nodded, licking his lips nervously. He was one of Telthan's sources in this area of the city, a retired soldier named Gwyn, now working a cover job as a minor merchant and ironworker in the city.

"Yes, there are others not here yet, though. I'm not sure how many."

Telthan nodded, thoughtfully, his blonde hair falling over his eyes slighly as he bent his head.

"I am expected?"

"Yes, one of the conspirators has told the others of you. Here he is, at last."

Gwyn indicated the opening door with a gesture of the hand holding his mug of ale. In walked a young man in what looked to have once been fine clothes, now tarnished and torn by time on the streets. Telthan noticed that his face, although round and smiling, was tight across the cheekbones from lack of nutrition, and slighly begrimed.

"Excellent," Telthan murmured, as he watched the newcomer shaking hands with one of the others in the main room. He passed Gwyn a brown leather satchel, which jingled slightly.

"Now, leave by the back door. If there's any trouble, you know how to contact us?"

Both men rose, and Gwyn moved quickly to the back door of the inn. He looked back and nodded, murmuring something subservient.

Telthan waited a few moments, then opened the door to the main bar, and went over to the others.

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Marineking

((Alright, registration is closed, lets get this train rolling.))

Mayodore sat at his table for an hour, sipping the heavily watered wine that he had ordered, watching the other patrons closely. The room was about half full, most sitting in groups of three or four by the hearth, drinking ale and laughing quietly. Not everyone that he had hoped. Not at all. He had hoped for more, and though he wasn't foolish enough to base everything on hopes, he had still hoped for more. It would have to do. Too much had been set in motion for any more waiting, too much had been risked to stop now. If he walked out the door and left the city right then, he might make it out, though most others probably wouldn't, but it would mean the end of any hopes for a good long while. That is, of course, if someone had snitched, or been caught, and too much was riding on this day to hope for anything but the worst.

Finally, as a blond who's description he though he recognized entered, Mayodore rose from his seat, draining the last of his mug. He walked over to the innkeeper, planting as merry a smile as he could on his face. "Martha, dear," He announced in a light but loud voice, "a round of your best spiced win to all in the room! I made such a sale today that it would be criminal not to celebrate it!" A smattering of cheers came from those who did not recognize the code-phrase, and Martha gave him a slightly anxious smile. She knew the importance of this, and in some ways was his strongest supporter, but she was a worrier as well; it had taken much to get her to agree to this. Still wearing his smile, Mayodore marched to the door that led to the kitchen, pushing it open with the butt of his staff. He stepped through and, as the door was closing, peeked back into the common room. Several other were rising, about a third of those in the room, and the door closed. The kitchen was bustling, as all kitchens seemed to do, whether or not an inn was particularly busy, and Mayodore stepped carefully around scullions and knife-wielding women as he made his way to the back-door. Half way there he turned, as if suddenly remembering something, and opened the door to the cellar, stepping through. He walked down the stairway into a chill room lined with barrels and shelves, some containing potatoes and other vegetables, others containing spices or ale. A long stone table was set in the middle of the room, where a clearing had been made, and a locked chest sat under it. Striding to the other side of the table, he took a key out of his pouch and squatted down to the unlock the chest. He took several of the papers out, spreading one, a map of the Capital and it's outer villages and forts, across the table and weighted it down with with stones there just for the purpose, while keeping a small leather pouch held tightly in his hand. He waited.

Several minutes later men started coming down the stairs. Three. Six. Eleven. Fourteen. Just fourteen. Barely even a third of what he had hoped. They were all leaders of their villages or towns - though not officially of course, just influential men and women that others had a habit of listening to - and were essential if his plan was to had any chance of working. They were also all powerful in magic. They glanced at the map and at him, several looking around surreptitiously as if they expected guards to leap out of the shadows. Most wore expressions of anxiety, as well they might, and others faces were carefully smooth, devoid of emotion. "I welcome you, my friends," Mayodore began, "I realize the risks you are taking to meet with me here. Few of us will survive if we are caught, and beyond that, hope for freedom will be quenched for years to come if we do not succeed here today. I wish to reassure you that, whatever the risks you have taken to be here today, they will not be in vain. Today, we take the first real step to ending the oppression of our people, the deaths of our loved ones, and rule of our masters." There. He had said it. Several of the men across the table gulped, and the ones who were looking around surreptitiously before were now swinging their heads frantically. Such a statement had not been made for at least a hundred years, since the last major attempt at rebellion. Thousands had died that day. He plowed on. "Many have come before us, and all of them failed, but we have something now that they did not. I have spent years searching for a way to win, and for years I and failed. We outnumber the nobles and their armies five to one, but we have never had the weapons or the training to attempt to assault their fortresses. Catapults, battering rams, overwhelming armies of thousands, they have all been tried before, but not one of the fortresses has fallen. But we have something that the nobles do not, something that will rend their walls like butter, and this is it!"

He swept the map aside, laying in it's place another piece of yellowing paper, and on it placed the pouch in his hand, unlaced it, and gently sprinkled out a bit of the grainy black powder inside. Nearly everyone in the room blinked together and stared at the strange black substance. And then, together, shifted their questioning, fearful, and angry gazes to him, demanding an answer. He smiled. "I call it, "Fire Sand," and you will know the reason in a moment." The cellar they were in was soundproof, he had made sure of it, and the table the paper sat on was stone - it had been a chore to get that into the cellar unseen - so there was no threat of fire. He motioned the others to stand back and, when they were a good six-feet away from the table, did the same. Like ladling water, he reached into his power - the feeling was different for everyone, but he had first begun using his powers in the kitchen with his mother, and that was always how it felt to him - and created the smallest spark. The tiny bit of Fire Sand ignited, making a very loud bang, and several of the observers yelped. One shrieked so loud for a moment that Mayodore was afraid it would be heard above. Nothing remained of the paper or the powder but a black spot on the table. Smiling, he patted the now closed pouch of Fire Sand against his hand, and waited.

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shadowsworn

OOC: before I post, would Telthan, because people believe he's a member of the conspiracy, be in the cellar with the others?

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Marineking

((I would expect so, unless you just came to watch the door. 2 Loyd should also probably come down, Judgement, unless you have some other plans.))

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shadowsworn

Telthan, after recovering from his initial surprise, sat back in his chair, watching Mayodore carefully, while keeping his expression carefully guarded.

"Amazing," he murmured under his breath.

He looked around surreptitiously. None of these others seemed to know more than he did. Fortunately, he didn't stand out too much, these people were reasonably well off, for peasants, and he had covered his finery under his cloak before coming here.

He half stood, "You can produce more of this... fire sand, then?" He hesitated, "Forgive me my skepticism, but I and my people stand to lose everything here. Everything we still have anyway. It will rip through stone, you say, but once the walls are down, how will we fight the soldiers? I count myself fortunate to have saved no small amount of money when my house (for I was once a member of the hated nobility myself, as much as it shames me now) was attacked by the soldiers, but we have no money or weapons to fight such a war."

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