Bad Tidings/Roleplays

Movlat in Obando, visiting the county of the Field of Fallingworth.

"Hey Movlat, what's this I heard about a crazy old man in Sirion Castle?" , hollars Denis, the miller in the Fields of Fallingworth.

"I am not sure, from what I heard he was preaching doom and destruction. Perhaps he was referring to Avamar.." A message bring Movlat the lastest news from Avamar with the failed TO attempt. "Or perhaps it is that Avamar is going to rise up and crush Sirion. But one thing is for sure, we have seen some major battles recently and it seems like this fool is speaking something of a truth, in the last couple of months I have seen many men die..."

"Aye Bankerman you are on the mark about that. I hope I don't lose my sons to some crazy battle. I don't need a ssetback like that right now, things are just starting to come together in my life." answers Denis.

"Yes, we could make many premature conclusions, but that would be right. And would worrying enable either of us to live even one extra day? Nay it would not." affrims Movlat.

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A Fontanese stable boy pulls the donkey cart up to the door of the prison where foreign nobles are kept. His job is simple - whenever a ransom is paid, he takes the noble and delivers them to the nearest caravan heading in the direction of the nobles realm.

Impatiently he stands there, absentmindedly kicking the wooden cart until the noble is brought out to him. Covered in bruises and in rags, the man looks almost asleep or unconsious. The only nobles that he'd seen in this bad shape came from Avamar, so he headed straight for a shop with a caravan heading towards the east.

As the cart rocks back and forth, the nobleman seems to awaken. Relising where he was, he asked the boy where they where going.

"You're going back where you belong, you dirty Black Hand!" the boy said with great pride

A sad chuckle broke out of the beaten noblemans mouth.

"So, I'm a dirty Black Hand, eh? And what are you? A blood thirsty Fontanese pig?"

Shocked, the boy starts to stutter. The nobleman waves dismissivly,

"Nevermind... just take me towards Oligarch."

After several minutes of wandering around, the donkeycart reachs a caravan heading north. Before the nobleman had a chance to get off the cart, a strange, wizened, old man stumbled towards him.

"Shoo! Go on, get out of here!" The boy yelled, but the creepy old man continued to stare at the nobleman in the cart.

Slowly, with barely formed words, the old man began to speak:

"Rebirth... the first... shall become last... the gods are watching, watching, watching, watching..."

With that, the man seemed to fall asleep on his feet.

As the nobleman turned to look at the transfixed boy, the old man screamed out:

"POWER YOU HAVE NOW, BUT THE GODS CLAIM ALL! THE GODS CHOSE ALL! ALL GOLD AND MONEY COMES FROM THE GODS! YOU LOVE MONEY AND POWER, BUT IN THE END, WILL YOU HAVE EITHER?"

His "quest" fulfilled, the old man turned and stumbled away, muttering as he went.

Geniune fear showed in the eyes of the nobleman, terror shone in the eyes of the young boy.

"They... talk..." the young boy stuttered, "They've never talked before...".

Shaking his head slightly, the nobleman climbs gingerly out of the wooden cart, hands the boy a gold coin and makes his way towards the waiting caravan.

Several hours later, with the provisions for the trip bought, the caravan starts back north. With the nobleman in his own private carriage, he slowly repeats the words the old man yelled at him:

"The gods chose all... in the end, will you have either?"

As the words become a mantra, the nobleman falls into a fitful sleep with dreams of Oligarch City burned to the ground, Westmoor razed and Ashforth flying the flag with the white tree on it.

Tossing and turning, the caravan continues ever northward.
(The rest is here)

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Ragnell avoided thinking after the battle. She would not acknowledge any feeling of guilt before she reached the shores of Oroya. It was there were she confessed to the ocean who she was, and who she loved. The sound of the waves reaching the land made her feel that she was not too far away from home. Poitiers, that calm rural region, and the big busy city of Oroya shared the same sea. So did Kazakh and the beaches of Sirion that her sister used to "visit" often. The ocean was a reminder that they were all part of Omnia, the Everything that is God.

She wanted to see the ocean again, and on the white sand (so white that it made her think of the God that is Light) she would write everything she regretted about the recent battle. That was not a Civil War. Avamar was not like Kazakh at all. She saw it in Dindrane once, when she wanted to join Rancagua yet had "Avamar" tattooed in her soul. She saw it again in that halfling who proudly defended it until the end: Avamar was not just a city, but a home worth dying for.

Ragnell needed to tell someone she was sorry, but no human would believe her apologies were sincere.

But the sea would understand. And she would finally understand its waves.

"Those waves wash away everything bad I write on the sand, and take it back to the sea," she had told Fuinur once, "but they are so dumb. They can't tell good from bad. They also erase those hearts I draw with our names on it, and tear down my sand castles."

We are all like the waves. We can't tell good from bad either, and we washed away the sand castle that was Avamar.

"Then write it again, my love," Fuinur had said then, kissing her forehead, "and build new castles."

To build again. Rebirth. That was a popular word lately as the people repeated what was being preached by priests and prophets.

Then news came about dead fish. Washing off her sins would not be easy anymore.

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