[IC] The Marching Storm

[Harry O'Gane]

Act I: To Rule The Land

All of you received an invitation of some sort, to come at the Castle of Simonton. Although it was summer, the day seemed gloomy and bad in general. It wasn't raining, but the clouds were blocking the summer sun, making the colours of the landscape sinister and ominous.

Whenever someone came to the Castle and asked for Lord Walton of Simonton, or more specifically, explained that the presence of the approaching individual was needed, the gate guards lowered their heads and slowly lead each and every one through the Castle to the great assembly.

Right after the first great hall, you all ended up in there. You did not all arrive at the same time, but one came after another, until a reptile figure appeared, coming out from the next room. It was Grok, Lord Walton's "unofficial" seneschal. Many of you have heard stories about him, but that was not of the importance at that moment.

The great assembly had eight pikes placed on the walls, with flags of Simonton and Caithness on them. Usually, they rose up high and findled on the breeze of the huge assembly. Today, that was not the case, as they were put on the half of the pike. A man whom you expected to see had died, and all of you knew it, since that was the traditional way of placing flags when someone deceased.

Grok stood in front of you, holding a small envelope in his hand. Besides Grok, you've all noticed each other, along with Sir Fharin, Lord Walton's old friend; Sir Astaron, his brother; and Lord Slenthan, another local noble.

In the state of complete confusion and disbelief, Sir Astaron, a plump man, red in face and almost with no hair at all broke the silence:

"W...what is this trickery, lizard?! Where is my brother? Why were we all summoned, WHAT KIND OF SICK JOKE is this?!"

(OOC: Feel free to post in the thread. Pick your colour, I as a GM will be using bolded black text for NPCs.)

[Lamech]

Originally Posted by Harry O'Gane

"W...what is this trickery, lizard?! Where is my brother? Why were we all summoned, WHAT KIND OF SICK JOKE is this?!"

Maybe we should calm down and read the letter?

[Harry O'Gane]

Lord Slenthan, a short, sleazy looking man in blue, extravagant clothes observes the whole scene, with one hand tucked and one scratching his chin.

"Wh...WHO ARE YOU to tell me to calm down, you filthy commoner?!", Sir Astaron yells at Ezrael, only to be interrupted by another voice.

"Have some respect for the deceased, Astaron."

Lord Fharin, a tall man in noble, yet simple clothes puts his arm on Ezrael's shoulder.

"This man may be a commoner, but he speaks for most of us. Pay some respect for the dead Lord Walton. He was your brother, after all."

Fharin turns to Grok and continues.

"Grok. Since you were his apprentice and closest friend, would you mind telling us when did the good Lord die? I presume it was last night, since I spoke to him very recently."

The hall is filled with anxiety and an odd feeling. The breeze is not blowing since the windows are closed, and the only light comes from the candles.

(OOC: I presume you did not read each other's sheets, so describing your characters might be a good idea to start. :))

[Skullcrusher]

Ducan stands in disbelief. His brow furled under his dark wavy mid length mane. Crossing his arms and leaning against a pillar he says in response to Lord Astarons rantings,"Your surprise might fool the others "Father" but not me." He stares him down as if he suspects him of something. "Lord Walton has many enemies, Perhaps even some amoung some in this group."

[zoncxs]

Alonso Funchess is in his mid 30's now, a wizard for the town helping when he can for the past 10 years or so. he walks with his staff always and a pouch filled with general items he tends to need for the day, usually consisting of bandages, water skin, herbs, ink well and parchment, as well as some food.

He had feared this would be the reason, after all the lord was quite ill and even he could not help. He takes these moments to remain quite and listen to what the others say, trying to piece together what will happen next.

[Lamech]

Ezreal is of mid height (5'8") and thin to the extreme, skin over bone and sinew. The most obvious thing is his hair is blue. Other than that fairly normal brown eyes, a slight tan, sturdy travelers clothes. And he did bring his two weapons, his trusty sword and bow.

Originally Posted by Skullcrusher

Ducan stands in disbelief. His brow furled under his dark wavy mid length mane. Crossing his arms and leaning against a pillar he says in response to Lord Astarons rantings,"Your surprise might fool the others "Father" but not me." He stares him down as if he suspects him of something. "Lord Walton has many enemies, Perhaps even some amoung some in this group."

"Wait, that sounded like you said Astarons knew Walton was about to die... which would seem to be a rather serious claim?"

[Epic Kobold]

It's rare that a mammal gets an opportunity to learn this, but the fact of the matter is, Reptile-Men don't cry. They are thinking feeling beings in their own way, and as such loss and sorrow are not beyond them. Grok's heart was certainly broken, but lacking in tear ducts, did not cry. His lizard-like muzzle ended in a frown, but it was not obvious to those that did not know him well.

…“Walton would have noticed”...
Thoughts like these kept jumping into his mind, disturbing his inner voice as a thrown boulder disturbs a stream.

His head did not hang low, it was an unnatural stance for the Reptiles unless they were feeling threatened. He tried faking a downward facing muzzle, but it seemed too much like mockery. No, the natural, biological response to despair in a reptile is hunger. The day he discovered Walton's lifeless form

...”I was the last one to hear his words”...

he bought a mule that very evening. He consulted a mirror in the small washroom and removed a spot of blood with a damp cloth he had previously missed. He had dressed in his finest funerary wear, the traditional black stood in perfect contrast to his bone white scales. Custom made by order of Walton not to long

...“he knew, really, deep down I did too”...

ago. Black tunic, grieves, and specialized boots that felt uncomfortable on Grok's reptilian feet. There was even a black cloak, probably due to Grok's fondness for them, that he declined to wear at the moment. They fit superbly around the Reptile's nine foot tall frame. He took a deep breath and ducked through the door into the assembly room, sealed envelope clutched in his clawed hand.

He had scarcely had time to reach the podium before the small audience before Sir Astaron's outburst

Originally Posted by Harry O'Gane

"W...what is this trickery, lizard?! Where is my brother? Why were we all summoned, WHAT KIND OF SICK JOKE is this?!"

Grok replied calmly, his words marked by the gravely voice and pronounced “S” sound of his species. “No joke, Astaron. We've all suffered a great loss.”

Originally Posted by Harry O'Gane

"Grok. Since you were his apprentice and closest friend, would you mind telling us when did the good Lord die? I presume it was last night, since I spoke to him very recently."

Equally as calm “I talked with him as he was preparing for the night's rest last Friday, the 29th, he seemed settled and peaceful as he ever was when he went to sleep. He never woke up. The following three days were spent arranging the usual as well as this meeting so that I may read the contents of this envelope, his final request.”

In plain view of everyone, he sliced the edge of the sealed package open with a claw and slid the contents out onto the podium. The letter, fell with a clunk due to the heavy key on a long, thin chain he quickly discovered folded in the page. He than proceeded to read the message word for word.

"It is 28th of July as I write these words. I am ill, and as far as I can tell, these might be my last words ever written. I planned on summoning Grok to write the will for me, but I decided to merely let him know of the fact that there will be last will, but written by my own hand, in solitude.

I insist this paper be read only if the following people are in the room: Of claimed noble heritage: Sir Fharin of Thunae, Sir Astaron of Dallan, Lord Slenthan of Midren, Sir Green Heathwood. Of common folk: My nephew Godfrey Stonegate, my apprentice and seneschal Grok, Mister Duncan Blackwell, Mister Alonso Funchess and Mister Ezrael Smith. The words written here may be uttered if and only if all of these gentlemen are in the same room.

My last wish is, as some of you might've guessed, to put an end to this foolish war. I had a plan to initiate the process by myself, but I am afraid that the death was faster than my ability to realize things.

Many of you know that I was a man who worried too much about many things, which might've been the cause of my death. However, by taking care of everything around me I managed to maintain peace in Simonton. Now that I am dead, that would be difficult.

I have no son nor a wife, so a question is posed on who will inherit the title. The rule says that for one to inherit the title of Lord of Simonton, he must be of noble blood, acknowledged by at least two nobles who may be knights, in a time period of one week max. The first to be considered is a candidate of the same blood as I. However, if there is no such candidate, other may be considered. If no one can be acknowledged and there is no chance for agreement to be made, the King himself must appoint the next lord.

However, the King is busy with the war, so there is a greater chance Simonton will burn because of the feuds over the inheritance than for the King to arrive on time. Therefore, someone must be picked.

I beg of the one who inherits the title to find a way to put an end to this war and defend this land from threats other than ourselves, notably orcs, Muslims and Megalos.

The current budget of Simonton barony, treasured in the basement room, whose key I shall provide in this very envelope, is precisely 600 Megalan pounds ($600,000). This is the King's money, and as such cannot be inherited, but can only be controlled by the Lord of Simonton.

Now, onto the things I CAN appoint, even in death.

Regardless of who the next Lord of Simonton might be, I want Grok to be his seneschal, and as such, he would be his main advisor and councelor. Official seneschals (Grok was only namely mine, not officialy) receive salaries from the King's money.

Alonso Funchess is to be named the castle mage (making him funded by the King's money, as well) by the next Lord of Simonton.

Ezrael Smith and Duncan Blackwell are to be named Liutenants of the Simonton Army (liutenants, as officers, receive salary from the King's money) by the next Lord of Simonton.

Sir Green Heathwood is to receive the parcel of land to the East, namely the village of Hamen. This feif is now officialy his, making him a landed knight. He is the master of that land from the moment the next Lord of Simonton is chosen.

Godfrey Stonegate is to have his noble rights back. I cannot appoint him the next Lord of Simonton, no matter how much I want to, but I can return his rights to him. This is legal and approved by the King's law. Since he has his noble rights, he enters the competition for the next Lord of Simonton, as he is of noble blood.

Sir Fharin is to have my two best steeds, whom he admired since I got them. The names of the steeds are Haralen and Vivaldi.

I hereby conclude my last will. I am tired and must rest, and I hope that this will would not be required to be read before the war ends.

Walton Frementh, Lord of Simonton."

Grok than slid the chain over his own head and tucked it into his tunic.

“If anyone would like to review the letter for themselves, this would be the time.”

“Oh father... what happens next?”

[Skullcrusher]

Ducan smiles wide,"Ah father I couldn't help but notice you not being mentioned...interesting. But of course you shall be in the running for the Lordship." Giving Sir Astaron a sly wink. "Well now I shall be in the tavern with my squad if the next lord wish to issue his orders to me" Looking at Godfrey,"Congratulations dear cousin. I wish you the best." He turns and starts out to leave for the tavern he left his mercenary squad.

[Epic Kobold]

"Indeed, Godfrey, I'm sure we can garner support for you swiftly."

[Harry O'Gane]

Astaron gasps and becomes as red as the pepper after hearing the whole text read to them. His facial gestures changed from paragraph to paragraph, from confusion to curiosity to the absolute rage.

"You did NOT see the best of me yet! Pick between yourselves whomever you wish to, I shall not be a part of this charade. As much as I am concerned, Wally can burn in Hell!"

He furiously turns his back to everyone and demonstratively marches out of the assembly room.

Originally Posted by Skullcrusher

Duncan smiles wide,"Ah father I couldn't help but notice you not being mentioned...interesting. But of course you shall be in the running for the Lordship."

He stops in front of Duncan and angrily says:

"Be careful what you speak, you filthy mercenary. If you insist on mocking me, consider polishing your sword. Soon, you will need it."

He goes out of the castle, hops on his horse and rides off furiously.

After Duncan was stopped by Astaron, he is approached by Sir Fharin, who says:

"Duncan. If you really feel obliged to go, do so, but I believe it would be for the best for you to stay here until we resolve the situation coming out of this will."

Fharin approaches Grok, and then takes the will, which he begins to study.

At the same time, Lord Slenthan speaks:

"Marvelously executed. As though he planned this the whole time. Sly weasel, I'll give him that. In this room, then, we have four men of noble heritage." he looks at Duncan "And one bastard son. So, the four of us are supposed to give our votes and acknowledge the next Lord? Just like that."

Slenthan laughs, and after calming a bit, continues:

"Do you really expect of me to give my vote to a petty Captain Guard? He would really want to acknowledge him but Walton cannot do it because he is dead. Oh, Heavens have mercy!"

He smirks again before continuing.

"I'll leave you baboons to play the king of the hill. I have other business to attend to. Lord Cabble of Denton also requires my presence. I shall take my leave. If you would excuse me."

He starts walking out of the assembly, chuckling as he goes. His swagger looks immensely disturbing, but a dose of envy can sure be seen, both in his manner of walking and his voice.