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Dies the Fire (Closed)

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Re: Dies the Fire (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Tempest on Wed Nov 16, 2011 5:44 pm

John


“Why Waterton?” Alexander asked as he chewed on a piece of beef jerky. “Why not out here in the prairies?”

The two men were sitting at a small table as the camp bustled around them. A map was spread across the table so that both men had a clear view of Southern Alberta.

“Defence.” John said the word simply as he planted a finger on the small town that was the end of this long march. “It can only be attacked from one side by land. The prairies only end a few kilometers away, it’s a perfect spot for a fortified settlement.”

Alexander nodded as he chewed. The site was in fact ideal for a town, but if it ever grew much larger they would have growing pains to fit any number of people in there. “Going to be a tight fit if we ever grow large.” He said, giving voice to his concerns.

“Aye, but then we can relocate. For the time being we need somewhere strong to set down our roots and we will go from there.” John drew his finger across the map and tapped it on the Waterton Reservoir. “That is where we will eventually be I should think. Good water, lots of land, out in front to protect what is behind. That won’t be for some years mind you.”

John watched as Alexander’s eyes moved over the map. The land they wanted to take was rich and certainly plentiful. “Or,” he said. “We can simply allow the town to spread along the reservoir and keep ourselves close to the Mountains.”

“Something to worry about when the time comes.” Alexander said with a nod. John knew he was a bit of a dreamer and a visionary; it was good to have Alex around to keep him in reality.

“To right. Well,” he carefully folded the map and put it into a Ziploc bag. “Let’s get a move on.”

The two stood and walked to where their horses waited, held by a young woman who gave Alexander a shy smile. John saw Alex grin back and sighed inwardly, the Change had made people much less subtle about their relationships.

He swung into the saddle and adjusted his great sword as he glanced around the camp. Each of the new towns had provided him a “levy” of men for service. The largest being 30, the smallest five. These men had been welcomed by his own troops who had quickly help kit out the new soldiers in something better then hockey gear and baseball bats.

Beyond the assembling army he could see the small columns of women and children who would be joining them, the wives and children of his soldiers. He knew now, from what little the towns knew, that Waterton was still inhabited and led by a German who had been on holiday when the Change hit.

“All set to roll out, your majesty.”

John turned to catch Alexander smirking at him as he used the title, feeling pretty damn silly when he heard it but the younger people had taken to it with gusto, especially those who had grown up with Lord of the Rings and other fantasy movies.
“Onwards then. Seems we have a Kingdom to forge.” John said with a grin and saw something that may have been awe pass briefly across his long time friend’s face. “Death and Glory.” He said the words with a wink but something he had buried deep in his heart long ago stirred as he spoke. Words he had spoken when joking with friends like Alexander, Patrick, and Antony so many years ago, words that suddenly held a whole new meaning.
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Re: Dies the Fire (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Moniker on Tue Nov 22, 2011 5:32 pm

Patrick felt awkward being fussed over by someone other then Bridget. It was an odd thought. He’d always enjoyed dressing nice, on the rare occasions he’d gotten to. Ties rarely, as he had a very thick neck, but waistcoats certainly and there was just something about how a blazer sat on your shoulders that could make you feel like a million bucks. Now, he wore a blue short sleeved button shirt with faux pearl snaps, his kilt with a rather simple travel pouch in place of a sporran. He did, of course, have a waistcoat.

“Look, I’m sure I look fine,” whined the man as Kat adjusted his collar. “I’m not even wearing a tie – bloody things. It’s a good thing I didn’t know about this bloody social, I would’ve brought more and we would’ve been at this for hours.”

Kat paused, raising an eyebrow at him in good humour. “Are you telling me you brought a nice shirt – probably the only one you have – as well as your kilt and a vest, despite not knowing about this thing. Bull shit, Paddy”

That smile.

“I had no idea!” he protested with a broad grin. “I am a foreign dignitary however, and it pays to be prepared.”

- - - - - - - -

Reed was relieved that he wasn’t over or underdressed. It seemed like most had just fancied themselves up a small bit from what they’d been wearing to the meetings, as he had. They’d gathered in the elementary school gymnasium, delegates and advisors. Important local leaders from Sundre had joined them, as well as both men and women as escorts. The proverbial plus ones.

Kat was one of those plus ones and she was beautiful. She’d brought most of her worldly belongings along to Sundre, intending not to return to Banff. She’d had a selection of dresses to choose from, and she’d chosen an elegant green shift to match his kilt. He was flattered somewhat, but understood that it would help his camp look politically united.

There were buffet tables set up with small edibles, with small plastic plates with which one could dish themselves up. The company hob-knobbed, chatting with the people they knew, introducing wives and girlfriends and advisors. There was business talk certainly, but most of it stayed in the realm of polite conversation. There seemed to be an unspoken rule that, when answering about home a man could answer vaguely and the topic was dropped. In this way tension was avoided regarding state secrets, defenses, standing armies and similar matters. To help facilitate civil proceedings, there was no alcohol.

Pre-Change, Reed would have seen this as a slight. Post-Change, even two years in, alcohol was expensive and rare. He knew they had a wider selection out in the prairies, with their vast amounts of grain available, but had reasonably assumed that if they couldn’t be sure to provide enough, it was better not to have enough then to run out. Patrick wondered idly if Baron Qasim’s obvious status as a Muslim had anything to do with.

His musings were interrupted by one of the delegates approaching. Wearing a bolo tie and a black Stetson that matched a leather vest and black Carharts, Matt Leiche of Fallingdown Farm looked every inch the cowboy and ranch owner he was. He nodded his head slightly in greeting as he approached Patrick and Katrina, who’d remained on his arm most of the evening.

“It’s good to see someone else expected a bit of a dress up, Mr. Reed,” said the Boss in stereotypical Albertan accent.

“Yes,” replied Reed with a crooked smile. “Pays to be prepared I thought.” The younger man was conscious of the thicker accent he and the other people of the Bow Valley had grown into due to their isolation and varied population.

“Pardon me for being so blunt, but I couldn’t help but notice you carry yourself with a limp,” explained Leiche. “Do you mind if I ask how you came by it?”

Katrina placed her hand gently on Patrick’s chest, smiling pleasantly at the both of them before saying, “I sense war stories coming. I’ll leave you boys to it. I think I’ll go compliment Mayor Abdulrashid on being such a fine host.”

Reed smiled as she left, then turned back to the cowboy from the WARF. “I don’t mind at all, Mr. Leiche. I’ve been stabbed in the same leg twice since the change. The first was early on, in the last big fight before we secured Banff under one authority. It was chaos for over a month, little groups scattered all around, some non-violent refugees, some gangs and the occasional pocket of pre-change authority trying to save everyone… which was impossible of course. There was even a crazy preacher who started going on about Moses or something. They ended up leaving on their own, heading south through the mountains.

“The second wound was more recently. Happened during a duel last April…” Reed trailed off when he realized Matt Lieche knew exactly when the second wound had happened. It was during their April Fools cattle raid against the WARF. It dawned on Reed that Lieche had probably heard the tale of his duel between their forces, and of the woman who’d fought well but ultimately lost.

“Yes, I know,” the man said coldly, confirming Reed’s suspicions. “Her name was Lora Linette Fields. Her man was Liam Fields, and he got killed in the woods chasing your bare-chested lunatics. He was my son-in-law. Your only words to my daughter were ‘get fucked, you spoiled bitch.’”

For the first time in a long time, Reed was at a loss for words. He’d never been confronted like this about someone he’d killed, especially not when it was the person daughter. He tried to stammer out something about a fair fight in one on one combat, but Lieche cut him off.

“She’d just found out she was pregnant,” the older man went on. “Only a couple of months, Doc said. I just wanted you to keep all this in mind while we’re at council in the following days.”

The rancher left Reed standing there, flabbergasted. He felt a small knot in his gut, a twinge of guilt he was unfamiliar with when thinking about those who’d died by his sword or spear. That feeling began to boil away, replaced by anger. How dare he accuse me of atrocity? thought the man from the mountains. She rode out of her own will, in full knowledge of her condition. She charged me, pregnant and all. Spoiled bitch!

Reed downed his drink, despite it only being lemon water, before moving to refill the glass. It took an extreme act of will not to storm through the crowd, to smile and nod when others did the same. I’ll remember this in council, Mr. Lieche. Don’t you worry.
I have a right to my anger, and I don't want anybody telling me I shouldn't be, that it's not nice to be, and that something's wrong with me because I get angry.

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Re: Dies the Fire (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Tempest on Tue Nov 22, 2011 6:20 pm

Jessica


The wind came from the east, rippling the great fields of wheat until they looked like waves upon the ocean, bringing with it the smell of rain, the faint rumble of thunder promising something more. Jessica sat alone on a small hilltop, watching the storm build. She could feel the energy in the air, the power of the promised tempest making her heart race. Beneath her a young gelding with hair as red as hers stomped a foot impatiently as if he too could felt the same way.

“A proper storm Logan.” She patted the horse’s neck and he tossed his head, turning so that one black eye regarded her from beneath a thick set of bangs.

Thunder rumbled again, the sound growing louder and the she could see the first stab of lightening beneath the black mass. Ever since the Change the weather had seemed different to her, more awe inspiring, more powerful somehow.

The wind which had been warmer seemed to cool as it blew with even greater force, pressing her clothes tight against her. She tilted back her head and closed her eyes, listening to the sound and letting the energy flow through her. She rarely felt so alive.

“You look positively gorgeous.”

Her eyes snapped open as she glared balefully at her husband, and now King. He was out of armour, clad only in a pair of blue jeans, fading black “Support Our Troops” shirt and a black cowboy hat.

“And you look as shabby as you did the first time I met you.” She said with a smile as he moved his horse next to hers, leaning over to give her a hard kiss.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He winked and settled back in his saddle to watch the storm. She took a moment to look him over. He had lost any of his excess body fat and looked as trim as the day he had returned from Afghanistan. Despite everything that had happened however he looked younger and happier then she had seen him in years. She reached over and gave his hand a squeeze.

“I want to ride.”

Without waiting for a response she kicked back her heels. Logan responded like a race horse from the gate, all four hooves digging in as he raced down the far side of the hill towards the storm. She heard John give a whoop behind her and then the sound of heavy hooves as George gave chase, his long legs eating up the distance between them.

She bent low, almost parallel to Logan’s neck as they raced through the ocean of wheat. They cleared an old fence, dodged around a wheat thresher where it remained frozen forever and across a small stream. The first raindrop struck her full in the face and she laughed, glancing over her shoulder to see John was laughing as he rode. For the first time since the Change she felt like they were a young couple again.

She halted her mad gallop by a small pond and leapt from the saddle, allowing Logan to drink his fill as John rode up. He dismounted and dropped George’s reins so that the horse could join his friend. As he walked slowly towards her she could see the intensity in his blue eyes, the life.

“Take me to bed or loose me forever.” She whispered as he took her in his arms. He kissed her deeply and then, together, they forgot about Waterton, the Change and the world.
* * * * *


They arrived back at the column two hours later, soaked to the bone and laughing out loud. Alexander greeted them as they came in, casting a glance over them both before smiling at Jessica.

“Took him for a good ride did you?” He winked.

She had always liked the big man, one of John’s few good friends and very close to both of them. He had an easy going goofiness to him that was hard to dislike and more often than not she ended up laughing so hard she was in tears when they spent time together.

“You better believe it. Had to remind him who’s boss.” She chuckled and smiled at John who only grinned back. He looked happy and she was glad of that.

The rain was getting heavier by the minute and she knew that the lightening would not be far behind, the thunder was so loud at times you couldn’t hear yourself think.

“Best make sure everyone who doesn’t need to be out in this, isn’t.” John said to Alex as the rain poured from his cowboy hat, almost hiding his face behind a curtain of water. “Less to dry later.”

Alex nodded and spurred his horse away; he would go to the section commander who would then pass on the word. Drying clothing when you didn’t have a permanent home was a pain, especially with how scarce would was in the area.

“Thank you.” John said suddenly as he leaned over to kiss Jessica. She responded quickly and passionately. This new world had a nasty habit of taking what you loved most when you weren’t paying attention. She gave him a last kiss and rode towards their wagon. She could see little faces wreathed in blonde hair watching her approach. Her little Princes.

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Re: Dies the Fire (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Tempest on Thu Nov 24, 2011 11:41 pm

INTERLUDE 5

Town of Babb, Church Universal and Triumphant
January 9th, 2018 AD/Change Year 20


“Evening Jude.” The sentry nodded his head in welcome to the young woman as she towed two children behind her on a small sled.

“Hello James. How are you?” She returned his smile as she pulled, the children giggling from their seats as they passed, making imaginary whipping motions at their mothers backs.

“Rascals eh? You’ll have to get them pulling you some firewood home soon.” James said with a sly grin that stopped the giggling and whipping at once, the children looking stern and well behaved in the blink of an eye.

“Haha, yes I will.” She gave a final wave and was gone.

James looked up at the sky and opened his mouth to catch a snowflake on his tongue. It had been a light snow all day thought that was getting thicker as night fell. It was only an hour or so until the gates would be closed for the night and he couldn’t wait.

More figures appeared in the gathering dusk and he called out. “Come along now. You all know the rules, gates closing soon.”

A head appeared above him on the ramparts as a second sentry gazed into the falling snow. “Looks to be herd.” He said and then gave a shrug, returning to his fire on the wall above.

James watched carefully, finally able to make out the shapes of several cattle in the snow. They were watered nearby everyday and were late returning but better late then never. The town would need them to get through the winter.

The first beast passed by with a strange wide-eyed look, then a second. James stared after them in confusion and suddenly, as the third passed, he saw the blood that covered their hooves.

“Raise the alarm!” He roared, reaching for the bell that was nearby for just such an occasion. To his amazement a crossbow bolt seemed to grow out of his as he did so, then the pain hit and he screamed.

He fell to his knees, never seeing the man who killed him with a sharp blow to the back of the neck.

A second sentry died as he stumbled from the guardhouse, a great axe severed his head with a single blow. Then the flow of men through the gate became a stream and the cries of “Havoc!” filled the air. The Northmen had come.

For the garrison it was an unequal fight. January was so late in the winter no one expected an attack and without their armour and orderly ranks the CUT soldiers stood little chance against the two handed weapons wielded by their enemies.

Church bells began to clang, mixing with the cry that encouraged the Northmen to kill and plunder. “Havoc!”

The attackers were big men. It had been known even before the Change that things seemed to grow larger in the Mountains and it seemed as if that were true. The Northmen leader was a huge man, broad in the chest and almost a head taller then most of his opponents. His swung a two handed sword that cut through light armour with ease.

It took Babb less then a day to die as the Northmen hunted through the houses, slaughtering those who resisted and roping those they captured into a long line of misery. The buildings they burned, everything that could be taken was packed onto the back so of horses and cattle taken from the towns’ own herds.

The snow was still falling when the Northmen began the trek home, captives and supplies in tow. Winter had fallen but the war was far from over.

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Re: Dies the Fire (Closed)

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Moniker on Sat Nov 26, 2011 4:46 pm

INTERLUDE 6

Gods I wish I still had that horse, Ursus thought to himself again. Though he and horses had never gotten along well, the unnamed animal he'd had to abandon in the ruins of East Glacier Park Village had been a blow. Traveling alone in the Changed world was hard and dangerous, doing it on foot in the winter was more so. He'd managed to grab most of his meagre possessions from the miniscule cart he'd ridden behind the beast before leaving it for the bandits that haunted the ruins. They had been few and poorly equiped, and though he suspected the group wouldn't have any qualms about eating him as well as the horse, they hadn't chased him. Likely they'd seen his small personal arsenal and thought better of it. The half dozen or more of them probably would have been enough to finish him, but nobody wanted to be the first to feel the bite of his sword or the sting of his spear.

So, through the support or mirth of the Gods, the man who now called himself had Urus walked. He'd made his way further into Glacier National Park, hoping the southern latitudes would stave off winter longer then it would at home. This hope, like so many others, had been in vain. There had been frost on his first night out from the Village, and he'd felt it in his beard as he'd walked on through the darkness. Since then, the higher he went into these American Rockies, there had been several dustings of snow and the signs of more to come. Being a man from the mountains, he was able to withstand the weather with ease, and certainly had enough clothes to keep him alive in the night, but that wasn't the problem. He'd been two days without food before he snagged a squirrel and a magpie, and there were few signs of dear along the road. He'd toyed with traveling off the snow covered pavement in hopes of finding some sort of game, but as the snow started to fall in the late afternoon he thought better of it. Afraid of getting lost in a whiteout in unfamiliar woods, Ursus made what gains he could along the mountain pass. All the while, he thought of how his horse must have tasted.

Early the next morning the snow hadn't let and the wind was whipping his beard and cloak about fiercely. Hunger had given him a fitful sleep, and so he'd set out early. Before midday, hope had been rekindled in the wanderer. A town, or at least a hamlet, had been announced on a roadsign. It was far, but he thought he could make it by nightfal if he pushed himself. He took a rest of only a few minutes to drink some melted snow from his canteen, then bent to his task with a vigour he hadn't had in his steps for days. He began muttering the name of the town, a quiet desperate mantra: "Essex." His renewed pace lasted until the sun disapeared behind a mountain peak, and then Ursus was trudging once more. All will was bent towards the next step.

It had been full dark for three hours when he made the hamlet of Essex. There was firelight in a few of the windows, and a single lamp could be seen above what amounted to the gatehouse, a fortified cubevan amidst a crude palisade. There couldn't be more then a couple families living inside. With snow caking his long unkempt beard, Ursus the Exiled approached the lamp, stopping half a dozen yards away to be seen and heard.

"Hello to Essex!" he shouted as loud as he could - still a powerful sound in his weakened state. It garnered no response. Several attempts, and success only came when he began banging on the door of the cubevan. A bundled up man peered down from above.

"Get away from there!" shouted the man through the wind. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"My name is Ursus," came the croaked response to the sentry. "I want shelter, and any bite to eat you could spare! I can trade a few goods and more services!"

"Come back tomorrow!" responded the guardsman. "I can't see you, and I don't trust you. If you can't wait, then be on your way!" The man disappeared back into whatever shelter he had, and despite pleading shouts from Ursus, the sentry did not return.

Desperation came over the wanderer. He new, deep in his empty gut, that he would not survive the night outside the gate. A need came over him, and without much thought on the matter he began to act. His pack, along with his shield and spear, sword and axe, were all stuffed under a derelict truck two hundred yards from the pallisade. He removed his cloak, then his chainmaille.They joined his other equipment under the car, the armour wrapped in the cloth. Wearing a dark toque with a black Moosehead logo embroidered on the front, and merely his sturdy winter clothes, he approached the low wall once more.

Scaling it was easy. Making no attempt to hide his presence from the sentry, Ursus allowed him enough time to stand and utter a surprised question before plunging his knife between the mans ribs. The ten inch seax destroyed lung and touched heart, and so the man died within seconds. Ursus cleaned the blade, then moved further into the little berg of Essex. The first house he came to was dark, and he managed to break into the house without much issue. He made a point of breaking a glass. Before long, light from a candle could be seen coming down the stairs as expected. Ursus waited until the man passes around a corner, peering sleepily about to find the broken glass. He moved swiftly, grabbing his victim in a viselike choke hold. Immobolized and silent but not yet neutralized, Urus whispered into the mans ear. Quietly, through taps on Ursus' arm, questions were answered.

Now knowing that there were more adults sleeping in the house, the big invader tightened his grip until the poor man passed out, knocking him on the head with the pommel of his seax for good measure. Moving quieter then one would expect from someone his size and build, he went from room to room with infinite patience. Each sleeping man and woman was clouted on the head to ensure silence. When the entire house had been cleared, he set to work on the pantry. Stuffing a satchel and a backpack, he loaded himself up with preserved foodstuffs fit for travel until there was nothing left in the house. He checked on the first man on his way to the door, ensuring he was still unconcious. A small trickle of blood had touched the floor from the blow to his head.

As Ursus turned to leave, he heard a gasp from towards the stairs. He turned to see a young boy, and though he couldn't tell what sort of age the child was in the darkness, the invader could see his lungs begin to fill. The boys mouth opened, and just as he was about to let out a warning wail, the handle of the Seax sprouted from the childs throat. It was short range, and the blow pitched the murdered child back onto the stairs with a quiet thump. Ursus paused, wide eyed at what he'd done. There was a creek of a door on the second floor, and he quickly retrieved the knife, not checking if the boy still lived. If so, it wouldn't last for long at all.

Ursus left the house and scaled the crude pallisade. He quickly washed the blood off his clothes and knife in the snow, then retrieved his gear. Through the wind, he couldn't tell if an alarm had been sounded in the hamlet of Essex, and Ursus the murderer didn't stay to find out. Feeling a little more numb, a little more hollow of self, he set off west again. Though he felt nautious, he slowly ate a sugared buscuit as he went. The feeling - all feeling - disappeared as he marched through the night, and the next day.

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