Edit: hosed the thread title up so it's really unclear what system this is. Out of courtesy to others, I'm remaking the thread.
(OOC and Recruitment thread)
It was summer when the orcs came. You remember, because it was the eve of King's Day. Every little village and town threw a festival on King's Day - it was the kind of thing you'd spend the whole year thinking about. High society types from Godsbridge, or even the bigger cities to the west and east would spread out to the outlying villages, sampling food and buying all manner of trinkets from craftsmen and traders. Five of you slept with dreams of fried pies and sweet mead when the Orcs came. One of you watched it happen, just on the cusp of self awareness, but not enough to raise a cry for help.
It's fall now. It's been about two, maybe three months, as near as you've been able to gather. Newcomers are trickling in less and less these days, and the news from the front gets worse and worse. You'd had hope of liberation at one point, and then the last band of captives came in, from Valleyhook, more than three hundred miles downriver. That was a month ago. The King's Guard were barely holding ground then, and it doesn't seem likely that the situation has changed.
People in the camp are getting unruly, and everyone's on edge - the guards especially. You've overheard the guards talking about reinforcements coming from downriver, as if there wasn't enough brutality to go around here already. One of the prisoners went half mad last night and burnt two of the bunkhouses and one of the siege shops to the ground with wild magic before the Houndmaster sent Tyrant to tear out her throat. After the carnage, they hung her corpse in the center of the camp for everybody to see - or what was left of it anyway.
Plowforged: The Orcs think you're a lot dumber than you really are. They don't let the other prisoners move around during meals, or any time they don't need to be, but they still think you're a loyal machine. Anger is an emotion you seem to have a lot of, but you've kept it in control so far, but you saw what happened in the yard last night, and it's getting harder to keep it in check. Today, you've been tasked with the job of feeding the mess hall. The heavy pot of half-rancid stew in your hands probably weighs a hundred pounds and is steaming hot when you begin to distribute the nasty, gelatinous mess to the other prisoners.
Nadya: You had... a rough night. You already don't sleep in this place, and the guards all hate you. They hate everybody, of course, but they hate you especially. You never do enough to deserve a beating, (and oddly, the Orcs seem to actually need an excuse) but they know you disseminate information in the camp, and they're itching for an opportunity to prove it. You might already be dead, if you hadn't picked up the Giant's tongue from the Hillfellows who occasionally came down from the Spine to trade. You don't understand everything the Orcs say, but you understand enough to know you're on thin ice. When Anna started burning your bunkhouse to the ground around you in the middle of the night, you barely got out alive. You wish you hadn't watched what happened to her afterwards. You hate that stupid, ugly, vicious dog. After spending the night in the cold, and a morning of backbreaking labor fletching ballista bolts, you're in sour spirits when they march you into the mess hall.
Jericho: You slept through the night. Merciful. When you woke up in the morning it was like you lost your family all over again. Anna worked with you in one of the siege shops, a friendly face with a smile despite the misery around her. She reminded you of your daughter. Your work shift this morning was cancelled, on account of the shop's embers still being too hot to move - it would have been a relief, if you weren't so numb inside. As the morning drags on, the numbness is rapidly beginning to fade, replaced with something dark and primal. Despite not eating for two days, you have no appetite for food - you want revenge.
Llenewar: Everything is coming to a head now. You didn't know the prisoner - she had a different meal time than you, different work detail than you. You'd seen her with the messenger girl who'd come in last month a few times, but otherwise you hardly knew she was there. That's why it makes you so angry. She was some quiet little nobody, the last person anyone would expect to cause any trouble, but she stood up for herself. She didn't run away, she didn't stay quiet, she exploded in anger and rage and she took some of the bastards with her for her effort. You're beginning to feel like you've spent your whole life running away. The noise, the building cacophany that has only gotten worse since you were put in this camp seems to have suddenly lifted - a noise of static has transformed into a perfect note of clarity. You don't have to be weighed down by your anger anymore. You only need to draw it out - like a weapon hiding in it's sheath. When they walk you out to the mess hall, you know this is the last time you are going to be there, one way or another.
Kelda: You were scared to death when the explosion happened outside, and you were scared worse when the Orcs burst in a few hours later. They dragged three girls out of your bunk, and you haven't seen them since. You heard murmuring during your morning laboring, but the Orcs seemed especially keen to keep anyone from talking and after a few people got beatings everyone clammed up. When they told you it was time to eat, you felt momentary relief, until they marched you out in the yard and you saw Anna's corpse hanging from a post like a scarecrow. Immediately, your heart sank. She was a friend. Sorrow was quickly replaced with fear, as you made a sudden realization - the three girls they took out of your bunk last night knew how to use a little magic. Anna did too. Your talents are far from vast, but you keep catching distrustful looks from the guards. You have an immensely bad feeling about this.
Keaira: You don't know how long you were in solitary for, but your wounds are still sore from all the torture, so that tells you this was a short trip. You could smell brimstone in the air when they pulled you out, and for a second you dared to hope liberation had finally come. Instead it was just another prisoner who'd turned out to be more pissed off and angry than you, but without the wit or sense to avoid being killed. When they marched you to mess this morning, you walked past her bloody corpse, and the prized white warg of the Houndmaster. Tyrant's fur wasn't so white anymore. The dog had bitten you before, but you'd been able to keep it away from your throat... The girl on the stake hadn't been so lucky. Seeing the carnage takes the pain out of your joints, the blurriness from your vision. The orcs shove you into the mess hall thinking they've managed to break you this time. Their mistake.
As the five of you take your seats, and plowforged approaches with the day's meal, you have some time to simmer. Though you're aware of each other for the most part, you haven't had opportunities to introduce yourselves to each other before - but it's obvious on all of your faces that you're done with this place. The guards don't seem to care about the hushed whispers in the mess hall today, having made their point in the yard, so maybe you have a chance to talk.
Mirthless fucked around with this message at Jun 20, 2014 around 22:37
|# ? Jun 20, 2014 22:15|
|# ? Jul 23, 2019 17:35|