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[Blade Master Model 42]

~FEF: Liberation of Izzarra~

OOC Thread

Three years ago, at the end of the third age, Isaac, Lord of Izzarra, leads a body of trusted soldiers in an attack on their neighbor, Kalart. Tazok of Kalart is forced to muster his meager standing forces to mount a desperate defense. For a full week, Isaac and his forces hammer at Kalart's defenses, pushing ever closer to Tazok. By the seventh day, all appeared lost for Tazok.

At the end, however, a force from Kalart's neighbor and longtime ally, Mordo, arrives at Isaac's back, led by the Queen, Norona. Her fresh cavalry crash into Isaac's drained and battered fighters, and slam them into the wall that is Kalart's remaining defenders. One day, historians will decide whether this was a wondrous turn of events, or unfortunate happenstance.

The people of Izzarra have already decided. With Isaac's death, Norona claimed stewardship of the nation of Izzarra. Mordo soldiers patrol the street, enforce heavy punitive taxes on the citizenry, and punish any who would dissent with deadly force. Resistance has risen and fallen across the nation, but beneath the might of Mordo, none have stood the test of time.

The flames of rebellion are fanned by hunger and mistreatment. Will they burn high, or be snuffed out forever? In the end, the answer lies with you...

~Prologue~

Growing Embers

Balkore is a small town in the northeast of Izzarra, though not near the border of Kalart and Mordo. Like in all the cities of Izzarra, Mordo patrols kick up dust in the streets, every day. Every month, taxes are called. The residents of Balkore are no exception, and their taxes were collected a few short days ago. Few of them could afford to pay with money, and had to pay with food instead.

On the edge of town, there is an old, run down inn. It doesn't see much business, at least not since the war. The sign out front just barely shows the image of a horse rearing in the air. The owner, Rina White, spends most of her day tending her garden, and keeping the inn ready to hopefully make some money from anyone passing through town. In truth, the inn serves another purpose.

Beneath the cellar, a second basement once serving as a wine cellar now serves as the living quarters and planning space for almost a dozen revolutionaries, including Rina herself. Rina is no longer a young woman, but is already a widow. Her husband was a victim of the slaughter that concluded the Seven Day Siege. Her only son died last year after falling ill when she had no way to pay for medicine to heal him. She doesn't talk about it much, but the other villagers see no reason to keep it a secret. As evening falls, Rina makes her way down the staircase usually hidden by a large, weathered rug, stepping into the dim candlelight of the subbasement.

Everyone is in!

"Alright you lot." Her voice floats out into the space, cutting through any chatter that had been present. "I hope you see fit to get some work done tonight." Rina continued down the stairs, each wooden step creaking dangerously. "Sharne, how's our food stock? As if I couldn't guess."

[Swordstar]

Sharne had been standing quietly with her back against the wall near a purple haired woman and a black haired man with her hand gently resting on the guard of a sheathed sword. Glancing up as Rina walked down, she folded her arms and shook her head.

"At most three days if we want to be hungry at the end of the day. By normal standards two. W need to do something if this group is to survive."

[Blade Master Model 42]

Rina sniffed, but did not look surprised. "Then I suppose we should thank the hard working tax officers of Mordo." Her voice was heavy with sarcasm and cold fury. "Another tax wagon is coming this way. Not through town, thank goodness, but close enough that you all can get out in front of them." Rina looked at Martyn. "Tell 'em."

[Sirus]

Sam had been sitting with her back to one of the cellar's walls, miming out a marching tune. Partly to stay in practice, partly to distract herself from the group's worsening situation.

[CrimsonEon]

A gruff, scarred man with jet-black hair sat on an old wine barrel near the edge of the room Sharne was placed. He took a couple moments to stretch his neck, echoes of his joints popping sounding throughout the room.
: "Hrph. Yet another day scrounging for provisions." He recited in somewhat beleaguered irritation, "Sounds like this time we can at least take the fight to them."

[GiglameshDespair]

Roux was a languid figure, never truly still. She was slumped inelegantly on a chair, her booted feet up on the table. She took her head off her hand where it was leaning as Rina came in.
"'Bout damn time we did summin'."

A gruff, scarred man with jet-black hair sat on an old wine barrel near the edge of the room Sharne was placed. He took a couple moments to stretch his neck, echoes of his joints popping sounding throughout the room.
: "Hrph. Yet another day scrounging for provisions." He recited in somewhat beleaguered irritation, "Sounds like this time we can at least take the fight to them."

Roux rolled her eyes at the grunting merc.
"If yer wanna eat hardtack again, yer welcome, but if I 'ave to someone is probably gonna get gutted. Gettin' somethin' proper to eat is good as anythin'."

[Stirk]

A large man with a hatchet was leaning against the wall. Unlike the others, he was happy with the situation. Anything beats the bandit camp, starving with a roof over your head is an improvement over starving in a tent. Quietly, he mutters to himself.

"...This isn't much different from being a bandit. A bit less direct, perhaps, but stealing this cart from Mordo is basically stealing from the town itself."

[Twinwolf]

The purple-haired woman, wearing robes rather than the armor and hard leather that covered most of her comrades, had been chatting with Sharne and Kaldach before the woman came in. She quite literally hopped to her feet when the Rina started talking, and listened intently.

"Finally. I was getting a bit stir-crazy, sitting here all day." she says, taking up a dark colored tome. It could almost pass for a normal book, if it weren't so heavy with the weight of it's enchantments.

Of course, the others were fine to sit with, mostly interesting conversation partners (especially the women. Cute batch in this cell), but sitting in a basement could drive anyone to terrible boredom.

Then, the newer man talked.

A large man with a hatchet was leaning against the wall. Unlike the others, he was happy with the situation. Anything beats the bandit camp, starving with a roof over your head is an improvement over starving in a tent. Quietly, he mutters to himself.

"...This isn't much different from being a bandit. A bit less direct, perhaps, but stealing this cart from Mordo is basically stealing from the town itself."

"Hardly. The cart just got done stealing the money and food of some other poor town. We're just taking it back for the people."

[Blade Master Model 42]

The innkeep nodded. "If we can't return the food or money to their owners, then that's a pity, but it ain't no reason to just let the bastards have it either. People are hungry in town as well, and they've done right by all of us. We'll do right by them as well."

[Stirk]

"Hardly. The cart just got done stealing the money and food of some other poor town. We're just taking it back for the people."

"And taking a fair bit for ourselves, of course. At least, we should. If we are starved and poor, they'll be worse off when Mordo comes to collect all the taxes they lost."

The innkeep nodded. "If we can't return the food or money to their owners, then that's a pity, but it ain't no reason to just let the bastards have it either. People are hungry in town as well, and they've done right by all of us. We'll do right by them as well."

"Sorry, miss. Didn't mean anything by it. Didn't think you could even hear me."

"It just reminds me of old times. Planning a raid feels the same whatever the end goal is."

[Swordstar]

"It should be a straightforward enough raid. I see no reason you should involve yourselves, Kaldach, Esther. Better if you two were to stay back here. We don't need to risk everyone, right?"

[CrimsonEon]

The mercenary sighed, shaking his head at Roux's insistence.
: "Fighting for survival's fine and nice, but I'll gladly chew on rat meat for the rest of my life if it means we get things done."
Kaldach paused his musings, glaring at Sharne as she made her suggestion.
: "No."

[Twinwolf]

"Aww, you do care about me~" Esther teases at Sharne. Anyone who had been in the group for more than a day or two likely knew Esther's preferences by this point.

"I'm still going though. I'm not helping anyone gathering dust in this basement."

[Gaterhyme]

Liam, who had been sitting silently near one of the corners of the room, let out a small chuckle.

"I don't see any other mages around here, besides."

Even he didn't intend on staying. Not to die slowly here. Might be a quicker death out there, but least it looked like he'd have a say in it that way.

[Lucus Casius]

:  "We need them both."

The cowled man shifted in the shadows of his little corner of the room, looking up just enough to catch the innkeeper's eye.  Few had cared to bother with the man lurking back there, still and quiet as he was.  None had really paid him much mind, after Rina's initial okay.  A stranger was hardly unknown in cells like these, and with his hood pulled low he was indistinguishable from the few sympathizing informants Rina might have rarely brought in.  Even if some, had they looked closer, might have recognized his face.

The man pushed himself away from the wall, stepping out towards the candlelight, his one visible hand resting instinctively upon the hilt of a knife.

: "Two days past, I intercepted a runner coming up one of the quieter north-south trade roads.  Most of what he was carrying was useless to us; new bounty postings, news from the coastal towns, barely enough coin to buy half a loaf of bread.  However, one thing did stand out...

He pulls his other hand from his cloak, tossing two folded papers upon the table.  One, a crude (if accurate) local county map.  The other, a missive, stamped with a Mordiam seal.

: "A small overland caravan was diverted from their normal route towards the border by a landslide, forcing them to take a detour.  As it happens, the road they chose brings them closer to here, half a day's ride from the inn.  And, as it happens, it leads them through an area ripe for ambush.

Martyn lowered his hood, revealing his face to the dim light of the room.  He looked at each of the would-be revolutionaries in turn, lingering on some for a moment before giving a little nod.  He then leans forward, tapping a spot on the map.

:  "Five wagons.  Twenty-odd guards.  Spread out and single file, in this one point. I aim to take back the wealth they stole from our people.

:  "I heard from an old acquaintance that this was one of the few bands in the area left able to take on such a job.  So, I'll ask you.  Will you join me?"