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Allen Ruthgard

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a character in “The Chosen Few: The Broken Order {Reboot}”, originally authored by RCJJ23, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

Image
Name: Allen Ruthgard
Race: Human
Rank: Lieutenant-Commander
Birthdate/Age: 899, 4E, 28 Years
Gender: Male
Alignment: Chaotic Good



Appearance: Standing at the head turning 6ft 4in/1.93m and weighing 92kg/203lbs, Allen Ruthgard is a large man. His body is toned and well-muscled from the training he's received for most of his life and it also shows through the multitude of scars he's received from training accidents. His bulk is deceptive however, as he is as fast as he is strong. The worst mistake that you can make while facing him is assuming that he will only use slow but powerful attacks, only to be caught unaware when he delivers a furious flurry of blows.

He keeps his hair loosely cut, not too short yet not too long, loose enough to not seem like an overbearing officer but short enough to not get in his way when he fights. He prefers to keep himself clean shaven but will allow a beard to grow out up to, at most, his outer cheek. His eyes are two separate colors, both steel grey and sky blue due to the condition Hetochromia Iridum that he inherited from his family. He favors his left hand but can use both with equal skill and dexterity.

He usually wears an olive tunic over darker brown breeches when off duty, but wears a heavier set of armor when in battle. His armor is customized to his liking, with it mostly being leather armor for mobility while he dons greaves, gauntlets both made out of steel and replaced the torso armor with a steel chestplate with armored shoulders. He wields his two swords with a two sheaths on his back, both of them angled to the right to provide ease of draw. He usually wears no helmet, but if he is going into battle he would wear a steel helmet with leather padding underneath.

Personality: Allen, a man of three faces, three masks. Wearing one mask, he is kind, gentle, caring and much like a brother to his fellow Watchers. This is the one he prefers the most. He likes this one, not because it gets the least people hurt, it is also the closest to his original true self. Another he wears is cold, calculating and deadly precise. This is the one he wears for foes, mercilessly cutting them down, with his blade. This is the one he likes the least, even though it is also close to his base desires. Then there is his true self. His maskless face. A combination of all of these, caring but deadly. Fractured but not broken. His cultivated self merging with his base self. A dangerously unstable mix only exposed in the most vulnerable of his moments.

Skills/Abilities: Swordsmanship - Trained from when he could hold a sword by his family, he's handled all types of different blades, and has mastered a few. He usually carries two swords, a longsword and a shortsword. These two weapons can be wielded individually as they are usually or by his family's own method. Dual wielding these two blades is a skill that only a few have trained for, let alone mastered. Allen is one of those who has mastered this form of combat. This has been refined with his time in the Watchers along with his single blade skills, making him a difficult opponent to deal with considering you have to deal with two blades from one person and combined with his speed and strength made him a powerful whirlwind of death. However, he usually refrains from using this combat form, so as to have a metaphorical ace up his sleeve.

Hand to Hand combat - During his time with his family, he'd been taught various forms of hand to hand combat to provide a means of defending himself if he ever lost his swords whilst fighting. While he was proficient with his fists he never really mastered this form of combat, though he can still hold his own against even trained enemies, though not for very long.

Immense Strength and Endurance - In order to wield two blades at the same time, Allen developed extreme muscular strength and endurance to be able to keep up the fast paced fighting for longer than a few minutes. Now he able to fight with powerful blows and keep fighting for long periods of time, relative to most fighters.



History: Born to the Ruthgards, a family of swordsman-mercenaries with bloodlines reaching back to the first formations of the nation of Calaris, in the town of Garnum in Calaris. The Ruthgards were locally famous around the surrounding area, not throughout the kingdom for their exceptional skills at wielding the blade because of their use of Spartan like style of training as well as taking in orphans from the town orphanage to supplement their own children. From as soon as they could wield a blade it did not matter whether they were a son or a daughter, they would learn how to fight. It was hammered into their minds the different styles and techniques of combat from many different weapons, how to recognize them and counter them. They were trained in various forms of using a blade, ranging to all different sizes and shapes. They were allowed to pick two styles they favored the most, before being taught how to dual wield as a necessary part of their training this skill however is kept quiet from outsiders so only the Ruthgards and those who have seen them fight with the style know that they can fight with two blades.

For many years, Allen lived like this, waking early in the morning to eat before immediately delving into a morning bout of training. Then in the afternoon after lunch he was sent into the studies and taught by one of the tutors that the family had hired, because they didn’t want their children to be large meat piles without an ounce of intelligence. At sundown they went back into another bout of training before sleeping at around 10:00 after dinner. This cycle repeated for the 12 years after he first held a sword.

At the age of 18, Allen ‘graduated’ from being a trainee to a full warrior. His first mission was soon after that. They’d needed to clear out a small bandit hideout. He was sent along with two more men, one another Ruthgard and the other a small time mercenary, unaffiliated with the Ruthgards and just hired for the job. After a few minutes, with fifteen bandits killed and of those, Allen personally slew five. For two years he lived like this, taking on missions assigned to him by his parents.

Then at age 22, everything changed. He was sent once again to another mission along with two other men, this time to clear a small bandit hideout located in a cave. Someone must have leaked to the bandits that they were coming, as after battling through the cave, the warriors were exhausted and when they exited the cave, they were ambushed and captured. For two days they were tortured then executed. Before they could execute Allen however, a group of Watchers sent to deal with the bandit infestation intervened, and in the aftermath, with all the bandits killed they rescued Allen and when he was healed offered him a place in the Watchers. Though torn between his loyalty to his family and gratefulness to his rescuers, he eventually settled on taking up the position.

In the six years that followed, Allen had risen through the ranks of the Order, reaching the rank of Lieutenant-Commander in five years. When Ulfric's Legions fell upon the Order, Allen was one of the last to stop fighting. Barring his dual blades, he slew many of the Lord's men, but eventually even he was overwhelmed. Now in Ulfric's dungeons, he waits.


I pick these three colors: This is for the friendly mask, This is for fighting and this for the mixed mask.

So begins...

Allen Ruthgard's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Alcuin Grimfell Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson Character Portrait: Allen Ruthgard
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#, as written by RCJJ23

Setting

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Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Alcuin Grimfell Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson Character Portrait: Allen Ruthgard
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#, as written by RCJJ23
The silence that settled on Castle Halwall after the cacophony of sound that existed earlier was unnerving, almost unnatural in the change. Inside the castle walls were the site of a massacre, the massacre of the Watcher Order. Nearly two hundred men and women had entered in the late morning, now in the afternoon only the bodies of the dead were still above in it. There only two were moving, the servants assigned to body duty, to move the corpses for later disposal.

"I dun't like dis, dyou think twas' a bit hasty of Lord Ulfric to order all dem Watchas offed?" One of the says as he lugs a body of a Watcher towards the pile of bodies in the center of the courtyard.

"I think you should keep your voice down lest you want to have a meetin' with the 'eadsman, sides I trust our Lord's judgement, them Watchers are too dangerous for their own good." The other responds in a noticably quieter voice as he grabs the other end of the Watcher, helping his friend throw the body into the pile of corpses.

"The common folk won't be happy, what with dem Watchas been helpin' dem all out an' all The first one says, in a more hushed tone now

"That's why Lord Ulfric won't tell them, easy that way. Now help me out with this one, he's a big one." The second one says as he grabs the legs of one of the soldiers' bodies.

"What dyou think happened to da Watchas that survived?" The first says.

"Nothing good, not at all." The second one replies.

Unknown to both of them, nothing had yet happened to the Watchers in the castle dungeons below, for many the uncertainty of capture was worse than the certainty of death, a sentiment likely shared by some of the prisoners in the cells while others would see this as 'live to fight another day', for any small chance is at least a chance at all, and that chance was coming.




Lieutenant Commander Allen Ruthgard did not expect to still be alive, especially with the damage he had done to Lord Ulfric's ranks. Accounting for all of his injuries, they had not been the worse he's had by far, to him this injuries were akin to paper cuts, annoying certainly but not debilitating. Still, he focused his mind on the pain, mentally blocking it to clear his senses. When he managed to clear up his mind, he took stock of the room around him. It was dark, and smelt of excrement, both from the rats and from the bucket in the corner of the room. There was a straw mat which he had been lying on earlier and nothing else. He suspected at least a few other Watchers had survived the near annihilation of the Order, even if Grand Master Alistaire hadn't, being one of the first one to fall to the archers that had been the prelude to the death and carnage that soon followed.

Now he sat on the floor, resting and praying to the Holy Trinity and his own family's patron god Nargul, for protection and the strength to fight if the chance ever came.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Alcuin Grimfell Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson
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Catherine Nightingale "Lionhart". A woman who prefered to be being courted by some foolish Noble so she could place poison in his drink than the "luxury" of being someone's wife. A woman who liked to take what wasn't hers and constantly test the fitness of the city Guard. Characters like her deserved to be in dungeons, to be beaten and tortured for their crimes before being hanged before a public. No she did not deserve the courtesy of an execution. Such a thing was reserved for nobles, soldiers, and knights, people who deserved a more honorable way to go off before the Makers. Funny how the world should work on way, and actually functions in a completely different way. In the cells around her were men and women of character, Knights, Watchers no less, and they were to share a dungeon with her. Perhaps they'd be killed before she was or perhaps Lord Ulfric would deem their fate uniform, paint them all with the same brush, and have them all hang or be beheaded by the same axe. Well...that is if Catherine had actually planned to sit in this cell till that bastard Ulfric decided to finally kill her. However it would not be so. A woman like Catherine had her connections and the Lionharts would not send an agent of theirs to complete such a task without assisstance. A man amongst the guards was her inside man. He had taken the liberty of having her equipment snuck in and locked away. It was him who let her know about the preparations for the Watchers, which made it wise for her to delay any action on her part till after their demise. Of course Ulfric would fail to slay them all, and now these surviving few were stirring. Soon enough he would come with a map of the castle interior and the location of her gear, after this he would give her time to study it before coming back to hand her the key. At the moment Catherine had no intention of helping the other Prisoners or the Watchers, it would not benefit her or the Lionharts.

Seconds turned to minutes as no one in the dungeon spoke. Catherine found the silence and boredom to be the worst things about being in a dungeon. She had heard of people who had been in Dungeons for years, she'd rather die then be locked in one room for years. The longest she had ever spent in a dungeon was two weeks and it nearly drove her mad. Rather then sit there in silence Catherine decided it would be better to strike up conversation.

"So tell me Watchers...Your all Knights and men and women of valor and such. How do you feel about thieves?". Catherine sat on the straw bed that was in every cell, doing well to keep away from the rats. "This is after all where one would, or better off I should say, where one should expect thieves and other such low lives to end up...Yet you are here...What crime have you committed to share this dungeon with your lessers?".

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Alcuin Grimfell Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson Character Portrait: Allen Ruthgard
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Merriwyn rested her head against the iron bars,she had used her green cloak to sit on, it was more comfortable than the hay pile and far cleaner, well it was until she had set it on the ground. She sighed, a weakness to her breath as all hope had fled her, the silence was both peaceful and cruel, it provided her a suitable place for silent meditation but it was always interrupted by her guilt. She knew she wasn't the only Watcher in the dungeon, but they all seemed to be soaking up the quiet for none spoke.

One of the rats rested on Merriwyn's lap as she gently stroked its head, disease ridden and, no doubt, flea infested, the disease she could deal with no problem but the fleas, they would be problematic. As she sat, gently stroking the rats head without any attention being paid, her eyes merely staring blankly at the dungeon hallway, until she heard a woman's voice slice through the silence.

Merriwyn shook her head against the metal, ruffling her hair up even more as she shook herself from her daydream. She wanted to speak up, but she did not know what to say, her voice croaked, still rough from her crying, her eyes swollen and her cheeks rosy. "We are not called the Judges…" She managed to whisper, implying how judgement does not come from the Watchers, or at least, that's how she saw it. "Our only crime is seeking peace for this pathetic human squabbling." She cursed, before playing with her necklace, a pendant of her mother's giving to her so as to provide good luck and safe journeys, stamped into the metal was a star, the symbol of Jornea and Nore, the gods of travel and pilgrimage.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Alcuin Grimfell Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson Character Portrait: Allen Ruthgard
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Ser Stephen Lothbrook sat on the floor of his cell, his hands clasped in prayer despite the many wounds dotting his body. Mere cuts, he thought with a frown. Dried blood covered half his face, but he paid it no mind. Oh Holy Trinity, have You forsaken us as well?

Stephen felt like a fool. It was he who encouraged the others to accept Lord Ulfric's invitation. He was certain that with his support, they could end this war. He did not expect their betrayal. None of them did. So many had died and yet he lived, a touch of sentimentality on his father's part, he suspected. Why did Lord Ulfric betray them? What had he to gain? The Order was willing to work with him and he threw it all away to continue his petty war with the Grand Duke.

He listened to a thief mock their order and he was heartened to hear a familiar voice. Merriwyn was a kind soul. He was glad he survived. For what purpose? He thought. They were all as good as dead. No, he thought. Not yet. There was still hope.

"We take anyone who is willing to work for the good of all. Our crime is nonexistent, as Lady Mahariel has told you. Perhaps you hope to work with us for your redemption? We would welcome you if your heart is with us."

As idealistic and naïve he might sound, he knew his words would insult the thief. True nobility and offers of redemption had a way of offending people more than the vilest insults ever could But he must offer it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Alcuin Grimfell Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson Character Portrait: Allen Ruthgard
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#, as written by Bugsly
Vimoreth Koren rested his head against the wall, his eyes red and a solemn look on his face. He felt as he did when his brother passed on the battle of Gelden Plains, a great pain in his heart and mind. He had finally found an order which had no bias, simply defended those who were in need of aid, he had made brothers and sisters in the order and he had watched many of them be cut down by arrow and sword alike. He had been against the decision to join Ulfric, not openly as he held no high position of power in the order but nonetheless he saw it as a decision that went against what the order stood for. He had only survived when he was struck from behind, the pain of the blow only worsened the emotional pain in his mind.

He heard a woman ask what the order thought of thieves and he heard a man respond with a veiled insult. He cared nothing for this idle chatter, he knew there was one thing he had to do, and that was escape.

Luckily he was knocked out before he could use any spells so the guards did not see fit to restrain him in a manner appropriate for a magic user. He began reciting the incantations in his head trying to remember his illusion and fire spells.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Alcuin Grimfell Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson Character Portrait: Allen Ruthgard
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Choice couldn't help but smile in amusement at her fate. Snatched from one dungeon only to end up in another, and this one smelled worse. She knew several other Watchers had survived, but their silence told her they were more interested in mourning their dead than planning their escape. Odd, that the guards had them in separate cells but didn't station anyone to supervise them directly. Then again, they hadn't covered her head or knocked her out when they dragged her down here, so she figured they weren't the brightest. Either that, or they planned to kill them all very soon. Choice decided she wouldn't like to stick around to find out.

She memorized the path the guards took her along to bring her here, and the lock on her cell was nothing special, which was why she was currently at the rear of her cell, twisting and bending a few pieces of straw from her cell's mat into something that resembled a crude lock pick.

A woman spoke up, her voice mocking and intentionally provocative. Choice smiled and moved to the front of her cell to listen in. A couple of Watcher's retorted, predictably spouting their ideological nonsense and defending their innocence. Choice couldn't help but laugh out loud when one of the watchers invited the other prisoner to join them.

"Hah! You sure make a compelling case. 'Work with us for redemption! We'd welcome you if your heart is with us!' What a joke." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Surely, the lady here would be so much better off in this dungeon if she'd only join up with us, the heroic Watchers." She shook her head in the darkness, reflecting on her own poor choice to remain with the Watchers when she could have escaped. She turned in the direction the other prisoner's voice came from and continued. "What about you, Princess? Why are you here? Ability to avoid pesky guards not as impressive as you thought?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Alcuin Grimfell Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson Character Portrait: Allen Ruthgard
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Vision slowly came back to Mera, hazy and wavy as a ship at sea is. Pounding filled her head and stars burst in her vision as she staggered to her feet, falling against one of the walls. Sliding down, she grimaced as the dank filth of the wall came off on her clothing. Not that it mattered as she had been lying on the ground unconscious. As she hit the ground her stomach lurched. Leaning over, she vomited on the floor of the cell. Gasping, she attempted to stand but was taken by a wave of dizziness before vomiting again.

Crying softly as she kneeled on the floor, memories of the past few hours returned to her unbidden. Riding with the rest of the Order into Castle Halwall under Lord Ulfric's invitation, entering the enclosed courtyard. The screaming and battle-cries as the first arrows flew into the mass of Watchers. Next to Ser Selby, she had attempted to fight back but was crushed by the press of bodies. Helpless, she watched as Selby, her mentor and friend, was cut down by one of Ulfric's guard. Someone had clubbed Mera viciously on the back of the head, knocking her out. She assumed she should be grateful to survive the attack but she wasn't.

Grief faded quickly to numbness as she sat there, waiting and staring. Friends, people she had stood beside, bled beside, ate beside, all dead in the petty power struggle for the throne. What reason was there for this betrayal? The Order could have helped! A waste of life, so much death and despair.

Numbness gave way to rage as she sat there, a cold fire burning deep inside her. Hands twitched as she thought of the one responsible for this; Ulfric Ducant. he may not have wielded the blades and bows that killed her Brothers and Sisters but he ordered the attack. It was he that had planned the slaughter of one of the noblest orders in Calaris. He was guilty. There was only one sentence for such a crime.

Standing, she approached the bars as some of the Watchers began speaking along with one who was there for some other crime. Gripping the bars, she analyzed them, judging the gap between the individual bars. While not small, they were not too large either. Question was, were they large enough? Sliding her left arm through, she popped the shoulder out of place and maneuvered her body so that her entire arm was outside. Resetting her shoulder, she breathed out and glanced both ways down the corridor. Nothing. This was the crucial point. If she was caught she would be helpless and most likely killed. If the bars were too narrow, she would not be able to free herself. If they were wide enough, then she was free. Contortion was a useful skill. Holding her breath, she began to wriggle slowly through the bars, praying that her body would not lodge between the bars.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: [NPC] Bartender Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Alcuin Grimfell Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson
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Tevran's first impression was one of pain. A massive bolt of pure agony that started in the laceration on his thigh and shot up towards his brain. A myriad of other, lesser pain also launched a barrage towards his poor skull, and a tortured groan was torn from his throat. He muttered a quick prayer for strength against the pain and began to take notice of his surroundings. A typical cell, nothing special with a pile of straw for rest and a bucket for waste. After this quick glance he realized others were speaking. A thief, and several watchers it seemed.

Realizing that all this squabbling was probably for naught, seeing as they would all be dead by the next day, he decided to spend it in prayer. He stood as tall as he could and put his hands together in supplication. His voice thus began to rumble out in a heartfelt plea to the Trinity.

"Oh Gods, I have been a loyal servant for you these many years. I have spread your word! I have bled for you! But my time on this mortal plane is coming to an end it seems, and I wish to ask that you look upon your faithful Watchers in their time of dying. Excommunicated we may be, but my soul belongs to you! Thus do I ask for your blessing in this dark hour O glorious ones." Just as he finished his prayer, another mighty jab of pain struck him and his breath hissed out as he fell to his knees. "My brothers and sisters! We must pray, and hope that our plea for salvation is answered! Bow your heads now and say what needs must be said, for in all likelihood we have but a day. The excommunication is a big mark against us, and only with mighty prayer will we overcome it." And so he bent his head while he knelt with blood slowly oozing out of the wound and into the cobblestones and began to mumble prayers, unaware of the heroic efforts of Mera to reach freedom.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Alcuin Grimfell Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson Character Portrait: Allen Ruthgard
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"Hah! You sure make a compelling case. 'Work with us for redemption! We'd welcome you if your heart is with us!' What a joke." came a familiar voice dripping with sarcasm. "Surely, the lady here would be so much better off in this dungeon if she'd only join up with us, the heroic Watchers."

"I might have known that would get a response out of you if you were here, Choice," Stephen noted with a slight laugh, recognizing yet another of his comrades. He listened to a shout from another Watcher, this one about the necessity or repentance before they died. This time, Stephen sighed.

"No. I refuse to accept this is the end. Something will come."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson Character Portrait: Allen Ruthgard Character Portrait: Catherine Nightingale Lionhart
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#, as written by RCJJ23
Allen listened to the voices that sliced through the silence, first a woman, asking about what the Watcher's crimes were, and as the responses echoed from what he could only assume were other Watchers judging from the words that they spoke, but underneath all of that he could hear the soft sound of someone chanting incantations, a mage, likely to be a Watcher considering that they did have a few magi amongst their ranks, then he heard another voice speak.

"Oi! Shut your blabbering down there lest you want me to tear you a new one you maggots!"

Allen got up and peered out the bars. Through the darkness he could see a small light walking down the long corridor. He could see the light illuminate the body of someone trying to wriggle out of their cell.

"What in the bleedin' hell are ya doin' lass! Get back in your damnded cell!" which was then ended with a loud thump as the guard launched a vicious kick into the person's side before continuing down the corridor. As he got closer, Allen could see more about the guard.

He was wearing a surcoat, covering, from what the clinking told him, chainmail. He had two weapons, a small club and a sword he could see the keys dangling off of the guard's belt but with his large arms, there was no possibility of him ever reaching them. At the end of the corridor , he turned and walked back, again looking at each cell and pausing briefly at one before moving on.

Allen decided to speak, if not to see if the Watchers would recognize him but it would give him strength as well.

"Watchers of the Order, save your strength not for idle chatter but for an oppertunity if it ever came, and if it never comes then may the Gods damn our souls if we don't put up a fight, for we are Watchers and not damned dogs to be put down!"




Above the dungeons, Lord Ulfric Ducant paced across the room repeatedly, a look of what seemed to be a mixture of fear, anger and uncertainty. His advance scouts had reported that a large forces was marching towards Halwall, a force much larger than the one he had in the castle, especially after the damage the Watchers had inflicted in its death throes.

"Damn our luck! They'll be at our walls within hours! How long will it take to summon my banners?" Lord Ulfric barked out to the older, rather chubby man whose hands were filled with various papers

"Lord Ulfric, your men will be prepared and marching here by the evening but-" The man spoke before being cut off by Lord Ulfric.

"But they will not reach us in time! I know this already!" Ulfric roared as he shot a hand up that knocked the papers out of the man's hand. "We cannot lose Halwall, it is our only road of attack in the east! My men are weak because of the fighting with the damned Watchers... Perhaps eliminating them so soon was a mistake. They would have been helpful in the coming battle..."

"No my Lord, you must not second guess yourself, you did what was required, no more, no less." The other man said whilst gathering up his papers.

"You are right, my friend. But I cannot help but feel that the Gods have forsaken me..."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Alcuin Grimfell Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson Character Portrait: Allen Ruthgard
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Merriwyn listened to the commotion in the hallway as the guard hit Mera, she lifted herself up and pressed herself against the bars, the rats scuttling from her. "Mera!" She called out, no doubt that kick hurt, especially seeing as she was trapped between the bars. "Who are you to beat a woman of the gods?" She asked, angry at him for hurting her friend. "The Gods do not look favourably on those who harm their devote, let along betray and slay them." She warned him, a silent threat in her words, regardless of the soft voice it came from. "But the gods may forgive your act if you let me heal the injured, such a good deed may even free you from your lord's treachery." Merriwyn pleaded, the words now soft and innocent and not just veiled as such. The guard did not look convinced and merely smacked his blade on the iron bars, causing Merriwyn to release a surprised gasp.

Merriwyn returned to her seated position and silently prayed to the gods, until she heard a voice shout out. "Lord Allen?" She called out, "You live? There may be hope yet." A smile started to rise on her lips, they may not have been out of the jail, but now there was inspiration and inspiration is the spark which ignites the flames of hope. She stood up and looked down at the rats, she may not have the animal empathy of the hunters but she certainly could try. She got down on her knees and whispered softly in elvish, asking the rats in aiding her to get her friends out, the keys would be difficult to steal but a distraction most certainly would not be hard, all she would need is for the rats to swarm him, that would certainly distract him long enough for the others to whatever it is they need to hatch the escape.

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Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Alcuin Grimfell Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson Character Portrait: Allen Ruthgard
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Tevran's breath was becoming more and more ragged as his face paled from blood loss. The top of his head was now pressed against the bars, and the prayers he muttered were more disjointed as sense left him. He heard a guard wander in and smack one of his fellow watchers, and rage consumed him. His fists clenched and he smashed them into the bars as he got back into a more upright position. "Hey heathen! Instead of picking on a poor lass why don't you come mess with me eh? I'm sure you aren't frightened of a wounded brother of the order." His feverish brain was coming up with a vague plan to keep the guard distracted and perhaps slam his face a few times into the bars. But as he moved some more he realized he didn't have the strength to grapple with the guard. So he decided to settle for putting the fear of the gods into the man and keeping him distracted.

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Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Alcuin Grimfell Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson Character Portrait: Allen Ruthgard
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Choice smirked at Ser Stephen's reply. Pretty Boy, as she called him, was one of the few Watchers she actually liked. Despite his naivete, which she enjoyed taking stabs at, he knew which end of sword goes where and, as his nickname might imply, he was easy on the eyes. She opened her mouth but was cut off by another Watcher, whose voice she did not recognize, calling them to prayer. She broke out into a snorting laugh, her giggles punctuated by Stephen's voice in reply.

"No. I refuse to accept this is the end. Something will come."

"Or I'll save us all..." She muttered under her breath as she returned to the rear of her cell to work on her lock pick.

Moments later, the voice of a guard came crashing down the hall, and Choice set the makeshift straw pick down beside her mat, out of sight.

"Oi! Shut your blabbering down there lest you want me to tear you a new one you maggots!"
Hearing that, a very dumb idea popped into Choice's head. Then, she heard the guard's voice again, followed by the distinctive sound of leather boot connected with human torso. Whoever was on the receiving end of that was not having a good day. Another voice she recognized spoke up, Allen Ruthgard, a Lieutenant-Commander whom she affectionately nicknamed Big Al.

"Watchers of the Order, save your strength not for idle chatter but for an oppertunity if it ever came, and if it never comes then may the Gods damn our souls if we don't put up a fight, for we are Watchers and not damned dogs to be put down!"

The Lieutenant-Commander's words were wise, but Choice liked to make her own opportunities. She just needed to wait for the guard to reach her cell. The same voice that had defended the Watchers against the thief spoke up as the guard passed her cell. With her voice louder now, Choice recognized it as Merriwyn, one of the few elves in the Order. She offered redemption to the guard and was answered with the loud bang of his sword on the bars of her cell. As he approached Choice's cell, she chose a more aggressive approach. Just as she was about to open her mouth, she heard the man who had been praying start shouting at the guard, obviously doing what Choice was about to try. She thought about it for a second and decided to make the best of the distraction.

The guard spun around and began moving towards the shouting, and Choice sprang into action. She scooped up her makeshift pick and deftly swung it into the lock. In her years living on the street, she'd had to pick far more complex locks than this, and she made short work of it. The moment she heard the slight click of the tumblers in the lock she knew she was out, and slipped silently into the corridor. The guard still had his back to her, and she thought about opening another cell, but her pick was spent. She looked frantically for something she could use as a weapon and, upon finding nothing of immediate interested, settled for surprise and dumb luck.

Well, I'm either going to be a hero, or die with a sword in my gut in this filthy hole. She shrugged and charged at the guard.

As she reached him, she kicked at the back of his right knee, the momentum catching him unaware, dropping him to his knees and causing his forehead to slam into the one of the bars of the shouting prisoner's cell. She glanced at the ragged Watcher but did not recognize him, smiled gleefully, and then grabbed the stunned guard by the hair on his head and proceeded to repeatedly slam his face into the grimy, cobblestone ground as hard as she could manage.

"Should...have listened...to the elf...you fucking...fuck!"

Setting

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Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson Character Portrait: Allen Ruthgard Character Portrait: Catherine Nightingale Lionhart
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Before Catherine could reply to them all, her man came in. She watched him as best she could from within her cell, the guard who walked in. He played his part expertly and he needed to. If anyone of his fellow guards suspected that he was not who appeared to be they would lock him up with Catherine, further complicating things. This meant he would have to be rather aggressive towards the Watchers, whom by their comments Catherine had judged were not in the slightest deserving of their fates or treatment, though she did brand the majority (save for the girl with the mouth on her) as fools. One was apparently trying to escape from their cell, a woman who apparently had been gifted with the flexibility to attempt such a thing, he kicked her back in. He let his sword strike the bars of the cell to an elf, to silence her and he came ever closer to Catherine but then...He was detered.

Those watchers begun to shout insults at him, insults he would not take quietly. He approached one of their cells and the other watcher came free. Catherine was not foolish, she knew what that girl was going to do to him and what he would do to her if she failed. She did not attempt warning him, it was too late for him. The girl was on him now and slamming his face to the ground, the poor bastard was a goner. Catherine was not thwarted however, she was far too crafty to be kept in this cell but she would be delayed...unless...Why of course! Catherine was given the name of Lionhart, she was technically a part of the Noble family now, it was time to put this fact to work.

"Perhaps the Gods are real after all and they do this to spite me! Girl listen to me for what I tell you is beneficial to all you Watchers. I am not a common theif, I am the Daughter of Viscount Richard Lionhart. My name is Catherine and that man's name was Schmidt, he was an agent of my father. If you look in his pockets you will find a map of the castle interior and on that very map is marked the location of equipment he was going to use to aid me escape. Free me and the Lionhart family will be in debt to you Watchers.".

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Alcuin Grimfell Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson Character Portrait: Allen Ruthgard
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Choice bludgeoned the guard's face quite thoroughly, turning it into a bloody pulp and painting the ground a shadowy shade of carmine. When she was satisfied he was no longer going to be an issue, she stood, chuckling, and spoke in a deadpan voice:

"I have been told I cause headaches."

Just then, the thief spoke up again. Choice turned to face her as she did, blood still speckled on her cheeks.

"Perhaps the Gods are real after all and they do this to spite me! Girl listen to me for what I tell you is beneficial to all you Watchers. I am not a common thief, I am the Daughter of Viscount Richard Lionhart. My name is Catherine and that man's name was Schmidt, he was an agent of my father. If you look in his pockets you will find a map of the castle interior and on that very map is marked the location of equipment he was going to use to aid me escape. Free me and the Lionhart family will be in debt to you Watchers."

Choice looked back at the corpse on the ground, and shrugged.

"Huh. Right, and I'm the long lost daughter of Lord Doran Trent." She laughed, obviously more amused at her own personal joke than a normal person would have been, and retrieved the map and keys from the guard as she continued. "Listen, Princess. I was going to let you out anyway, 'cause I'm such an upstanding citizen..." She paused as she unfurled the map. "Oh hey, guys, she wasn't lying! Would you look at that!"

Choice opened Allen's cell first, and then moved down the corridor unlocking the cells one by one until she came to Catherine's. She gave a coy smile and chuckled as she turned the key with exaggerated sluggishness.

"Promise you wont hurt me for killing your friend there?"

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Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Alcuin Grimfell Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson Character Portrait: Allen Ruthgard
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Merriwyn listened to Tevran shouting at the guard, she could hear the pain in his voice and she worried, as she watched the guard approach his cell from the bars before a dark shadow raced towards him and took him down with a boot to his knee. Merriwyn watched as she bludgeoned his head into the ground and she looked away disgusted. Before long she heard the locks open and Merriwyn thanked the young Watcher, "Thank you, Choice." Before she made her way to Tevran's cell, he was shuffling to get up but he was pale and the large wound on his thigh. "Don't move, I can heal this."

Merriwyn crouched down beside him and let her hands hover slightly over the wound. "Poika tuulo' 'kshapsae." She whispered, curing the wound of any infection that had set in due to the conditions of the room, before moving on to heal him. "This may burn a little." She warned him before focusing, the wound would need a greater healing spell and it would require her to pass some of her health and energy onto him, leaving her weaker in the end. "Tanka tel' taurnin." She watched as her hand glowed with a bright yellow hue and a beam shoot from it and covered the wound in a magical glow, which slowly sealed the wound and returned the colour to his body, replacing a lot of the lost blood and leaving Merriwyn feeling very drained by the time it had finished. Her head hung limply from her shoulders as she took in each breath. "It is done." She managed to whisper to him.

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Alcuin Grimfell Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson Character Portrait: Allen Ruthgard
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As her body slipped through sluggishly, Mera cursed as the guard came into view down the corridor. Slithering back into the cell as fast as possible, she was still kicked in the side by the guard. Falling to the ground gasping, Mera felt the location of the blow. Feeling a slight crunch, she grimaced and lifted the tunic to reveal the side. Mottled bruises ran across her body but remained concentrated around the point of the kick. She must have broken something after being rendered unconscious. That would certainly be a hindrance.

Rising from the ground, Mera simply watched the guard. She felt no anger towards the man or his actions for all of her emotion was consumed by the thought of revenge against Ulfric Ducant. If anything, she felt pity for the guard. A small click rang out from further down the hall. Glancing in that direction, Mera studied Choice as she ran up to the guard, kicking in his legs and proceeding to smash in his head. So the man was an agent of the thief's. How interesting. And the thief was nobility, nonetheless; if she was telling the truth, that is. Spitting on the ground at Catherine's apparent display of piety, she sneered.

"You shan't ever be a follower of the gods, Lady Lionhart, so spare us your drivel," Mera scoffed. "I know of your kind and I've heard of your family. The most you'll ever be is a petty husk born to luxury." As choice unlocked the cell, Mera pushed open the door stepping outside tenderly so as to not cause herself dizziness. Reaching up to her hair, she withdrew the pin that kept it in position, a small metal needle; it was large enough to kill, however. Flipping the piece so it rested against her palm and up her wrist, she turned to face Choice.

"Don't think you're any better Choice, you who scorn the Watchers. Take care lest you find reason to be against us." Shrugging her shoulders to loosen the muscles, Mera began walking towards the entrance to the dungeon. Stooping, she retrieved the sword from man's dead hands as she walked and tossed it to Allen.

"A pleasure to see you alive, Lieutenant-Commander Ruthgard. The Trinity must smile on us to have left you to help us," she greeted, continuing past. Sliding the needle down so that the tip extended between her fingers, she strode up to the dungeon door and took position near it, ready to lunge towards any that would enter.

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Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Alcuin Grimfell Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson Character Portrait: Allen Ruthgard
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For his part, Ser Stephen watched the drama play out with interest. He insantly felt guilty when he learned that the guard who had been killed by Choice had turned out to be a potential ally. At least, he was a potential ally of the thief. Lionheart... The very name brought up rumors of betrayal and intrigue in his memory. It seemed as if the Trinity was on their side if Lady Lionheart could be trusted... A very big if, he knew. Choice may call him naive, but he was not foolish. He smiled when he saw the very woman he was thinking of unlock his cell.

"Choice, you are a beautiful site," he told her with a grin as he stood up. His wounds bothered him as he moved, but they were like miniscule bug bites compared in the face of the feeling of freedom as he stepped out of his cell.

"Don't think you're any better Choice, you who scorn the Watchers. Take care lest you find reason to be against us."


"Sister-Seargent, that is most unkind. If she had so chosen, Lady Choice may have simply absconded by herself," he reasoned formally as he followed Choice. He wanted to place a hand on her shoulder and thank her, but she was in conversation with the thief. He knew she would not want to look weak in front of her. Instead, he spoke.

"We must hurry. If I know Ser Petyr, he would want to take charge of the prisoners. I do not fancy any of use taking him on in our current state," Stephen reasoned. It felt strange referring to his father so, his body cut and fatigued, his face covered in dry blood. It hurt less somehow to put some distance between them.

****

Ser Petyr Lothbrook said nothing as he stood in the room above the dungeons in the prescence of his liege lord. He was there to serve, not take charge. Nonetheless, he could not help but look at the petty bureaucrat in conversation with Lord Ulfric in contempt. Such men knew only the papers and stamps before them.

"Milord, your cause is righteous in the eyes of the gods. Allow me leave ot execute the traitors to the Realm," he stated. He did not mention the identity of a certain boy among them. There was no need.

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Characters Present

Character Portrait: Choice Character Portrait: Tevran Shaetue Character Portrait: Merriwyn Mahariel Character Portrait: Alcuin Grimfell Character Portrait: Mera Atkinson Character Portrait: Allen Ruthgard
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Tevran was preparing his battered body for combat when another one of the prisoners broke loose and beat the guardsman down. A wry smile took his face then, but his body betrayed him. He was beginning to collapse when his cell door was opened and the elf Merriwyn rushed in and took a hold of him to heal him with her magic. Tevran felt strength suffuse his body and a lovely warmth go through his leg, taking away the pain. However, this seemed to take a toll on Merriwyn, who sagged in utter exhaustion after she finished. Tevran, feeling rejunevated, moved to stand up, putting a muscular arm around Merriwyn to keep her from falling. "Milady, I do believe thanks are in order. The Gods are indeed blessed to have one so skilled in their employ. I hereby swear to the Gods above to keep you safe to the best of my ability whilst we are in this accursed castle. Now come, this cell is no place to be. Do you require assistance in moving Sister? You seem to be unhealthy after using so much magic." As he finished speaking he looked out to see all who had escaped.

The Lieutenant Commander Allen was free, and this was good. They may have tried to cut the head off the order, but it seemed some of the leadership had remained. There was of course Merriwyn, as well as Sister Mera, who had seized a blade and gone to the exit. And then there were faces he did not recognize. One announced herself as a noblewoman by the name of Lionhart, but Tevran got the feeling that she was merely a sinful servant of the noble family. However, she was offering assistance, and if that is what sustained the Order, then so be it. Prayer for redemption could be held later. Now they must move quickly if they are to survive their escape.