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Snippet #2743313

located in The New World, a part of Outcasters: Atonement, one of the many universes on RPG.

The New World

Overall setting.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Alexander Davenport Character Portrait: Sunday Davenport
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Arc 1: The Uprising



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A L E X A N D E R
D A V E N P O R T


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Training had not long come to an end when Alexander left the courtyard and ventured up to his private chambers. An intense sparring session with soldiers of the Remei had left him tired and bruised, and he panted as he trecked up the countless flights of stairs.

Alexander was often allowed the evenings to himself, provided his duties had been carried out beforehand. In this free time he'd either visit the barracks to check on his subordinates, journey down to the cellars to spend an hour or two with his wife, or he'd leave the castle to take care of... other business.

At considerable risk to his own safety, not to mention the lives of those still in Victoria's grasp, Alexander opted for the latter that night. He'd promised his granddaughter an assortment of weapons and armor; everything ranging from swords, whips, and staffs to shields, helms, and breastplates. As he'd been informed, the Rebellion were lacking in protection and their abilities could only get them so far.

Over the course of several weeks he'd been taking items in small numbers and hiding them elsewhere. If anyone dared to ask questions, he'd shrug it off and claim that they'd simply been lost on patrols or damaged beyond repair in training. No one thought to question him too much; Alex wasn't the sort of man with whom you could speak comfortably, so most didn't try.

One bandaged hand slipped gingerly into his pocket to retrieve a small silver watch, which he observed for a moment before quickly returning it to its place. If he left within the hour, he'd make it to the meeting place by nightfall. First, however, he needed a hot bath and a moment's rest.

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Alexander, accompanied by a select few of his most trusted and loyal soldiers, trudged through the mud with a solemn expression upon his face. His cloak, once a pristine white colour, dragged along the dirt as he went and caught on branches more times than he could count. He'd been foolish to wear it on a journey such as this, knowing it would get filthy, but the world had grown cold this past year. The nights were unbearable, more so than even he could tolerate.

Before long they came to a break in the trees; the clearing in which he was expecting to meet Sunday. True to her word she'd arrived precisely on time and had no doubt been waiting some time for Alex to finally show his face.

Hands clasped behind his back, Alexander bowed forward and dipped his head as a show of respect for the young lady, before straightening up. "I hope you can forgive my dreadful punctuality," he told her. "I underestimated how long it would take to get these supplies out of the castle without being seen." While he spoke, he gestured behind himself to the disgruntled soldiers lowering their crates to the floor. "As promised, I've brought everything you might need. Armor, weapons, clothing, medical supplies, food."

Alexander hesitated for a moment, seemingly conflicted, then waved a hand for one of his men to step forward. The younger boy clutched what appeared to be a box wrapped in cloth and tied with a piece of string, and shakily handed it over to Alex when he called. "Perhaps I'm over-stepping my boundaries here, but... I happened upon some books that I thought Alice might enjoy reading," he explained as he then extended the gift to her. "They're mostly old fairy tales."

He'd not yet met Sunday's daughter, little Alice, but he already knew in his heart that he would adore her. He hoped he'd be able to meet her one day, when he wasn't in a position to have information tortured out of him. Until then he would stay away from the majority of his family, and the Rebellion's camp.