Memory 012: GR - Rally (TrivNeu)
Nov. 12th, 2014 10:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
justariderGame Received: Appearance Change game (anondress, male), Day 398, night to Day 399, all afternoon
Team Played With: n/a
Memory Form: a small compact mirror, completely silver and reflective on the outside—the inside is filled with water that cannot be poured out, and shows a distorted reflection. Indefinitely shareable.
Karigan stepped out into the overcast morning, leading The Horse down
the alley to the main street. The stableboy watched after them wistfully,
probably hoping for another copper. He deserved it, Karigan reflected.
The Horse gleamed despite the dullness of the day. She just could not
afford to dip into her reserves for more coins, but she had made a point of
praising the boy for his fine care.
The main street was still muddy. Townsfolk walked on wooden boards
lined in front of nearly every building and storefront, but the boards didn't
help if one had to cross the street or veer off course. Women held their
long skirts high, their faces in perpetual frowns as they trudged through
the slop. Karigan grimaced herself as her foot sucked in the mud. The
shine on The Horse's coat would not last long.
She mounted to let The Horse deal with the mud, and they went in
search of a food vendor. Shopkeepers were just opening their doors and
throwing back shutters. A blacksmith fired up his forge and the roar of
flame could be heard all the way out into the street. North could have been
any town awakening, but this one was without refinement. She missed the
cobbled streets of Selium.
She found a shop with cluttered shelves of baked and dried goods,
coarse cloth, axes, knives, rope, handsaws, blankets, lamps, flour, sugar,
lard… everything a town of this sort could use. She dismounted and
hitched The Horse to a post in front of the shop. She scraped mud off her
boots on an iron rung placed outside the doorway just for that purpose.
As she stepped inside, she heard a shout on the street. She peered
through a window and watched a man, encumbered by two sacks, running
through the mud, making little progress. He was pursued by another man
whose white shopkeeper's smock was splattered with mud.
"Come back with that, you thief!"
The shopkeeper, unencumbered, caught up with the other man, and
jumped on him. The two fell into the muck, each grappling with the other.
Passersby paused to watch the scene. A dagger flashed in the thief's hand,
and he struck down at the shopkeeper. The shopkeeper loosed a hollow
wail that Karigan felt every inch up her spine. The thief had stabbed the
shopkeeper, and no one had attempted to stop him.
The thief climbed to his feet, threw the two sacks over his shoulder, and
walked away. Pedestrians ignored the thief and simply walked around the
shopkeeper's body as if it were no more than a rock obstructing their path.
Someone clucked his tongue behind Karigan. A burly, bald-pated man
in a white smock shook his head, his jowls wobbling. "Old Mael didn't
take any precautions." He patted a short sword sheathed at his side.
Anywhere else, a shopkeeper wearing a sword was an unusual sight.
"Isn't anyone going to do anything?" Karigan demanded.
"Old Garl will be along to pick up his body," the shopkeeper said.
"But the thief—"
"Who's gonna run after him? You?"
Karigan blushed with shame.
"No one wants to risk their hide. I see you are sensible and carry a
sword. Not common on a girl, but sensible. What can I do for you this
morning?"
It took a moment for Karigan to shake off her sense of disgust at how
easily the shopkeeper slid from murder to commerce. She couldn't think
about it. She had to carry out her own mission, and there was no time to
dwell on North's problems. She suspected that if she didn't get to Sacor
City soon, more people would die.
She chose dried meat and fruit, tea, bread, and cheese from shelves, and
some grain for The Horse from a hogshead. She set them on the counter in
front of the shopkeeper.
"Two silvers," he said.
"Why, that's—"Robbery she wanted to say. She held her tongue, the
price raising bile in the back of her throat. But she was, after all, a
merchant's daughter, and not without bargaining skills. "Half a silver," she
said.
The shopkeeper smiled in appreciation. He was a bargainer, too, and
looked so smug that few probably got the better of him. "Two silvers is
how it stands."
Karigan furrowed her brows together. "Half a silver is all those goods
are worth, but I'll raise it to a silver. I can see it is difficult to earn a living
in a town such as this."
The shopkeeper nodded. "A fine offer, but a man needs more to make a
living. A silver and a half, plus a copper."
Karigan shifted her stance. The man didn't give in easily. She wondered
how many people were taken by bargainers such as him. When she
lowered the price to one silver, the shopkeeper scratched his bald head as
if not sure how it had happened.
"One silver is still ridiculous for these goods, but I'll accept the price."
She passed the precious coin across the counter. As she did so, something
gold glittered in a basket of trinkets on display on the far end of the
counter. "How much for the brooch?" she asked.
The shopkeeper brightened. "Why, one silver. Not so much for such a
fine piece." He placed the winged horse brooch in the palm of his hand for
her to look at.
"A deplorable price," Karigan said. "A cheap trinket. One copper is
generous." She knew full well that the brooch was just as much pure gold
as her own, but chances were that the shopkeeper saw it as a gaudy piece
of costume jewelry, as had Torne and Jendara seen hers.
The shopkeeper raised his brows. "That ring you're wearing… A clan
ring?"
Karigan had forgotten about her mother's troth ring. It probably wasn't
something she should wear openly, with its gold and diamond, in a town
such as North. She sensed, however, that the shopkeeper was suddenly
intimidated. Rarely did she ever use the traditional clan bow, but she did
so now. She placed her hand on her heart and dipped low. "Clan G'ladheon
at your service."
"Merchant clan?"
"Yes."
"I should have known. I wondered how you managed to outbargain
me." He chuckled good-naturedly. "A copper it is, for the brooch."
Karigan couldn't believe her good fortune. She thought she would end
up having to pay at least half a silver. She pushed the copper across the
counter and took the brooch. It was heavy and cold in her hand. All of the
blood hadn't been polished off. The folk here were no better than Torne
and Jendara, picking valuables off the dead. She dropped the brooch into
her pocket, collected her goods, and left just as a bewhiskered man dressed
in buckskin strode in, beaver, fox, and mink pelts swaying over his
shoulder.
The body of the shopkeeper had been removed. Farther down the street,
a crowd assembled. Most folk were garbed in the colorless textiles or
buckskin of the town. A few merchant types added a splash of color.
Karigan loaded the saddlebags with her newly purchased goods, and
mounted The Horse. The sooner they left town, the better.
They plodded carefully toward the assembly. Members of the Anti-
Monarchy Society formed a barrier around Lorilie Dorran who stood atop
an overturned apple crate addressing the crowd. Not everyone likes
Lorilie's ideas, Karigan thought idly. Or they just don't like Lorilie.
"You say the king protects you?" Lorilie demanded.
A man shifted uncomfortably in the crowd. "That's right."
The crowd jeered him. He was well dressed, perhaps a merchant, and
definitely not local.
Lorilie held her hands up to quiet the crowd. "I suppose the king does
protect and favor the wealthy. The wealthy can afford it. Your merchant's
guild is as bad as the governors' council, trying to control entire villages
with your trade, and your rules.
"But what of the folk here in North?" Lorilie's eyes seared those of her
audience. "A man was killed this morning in the street. No one was here to
prevent the crime. The king didn't protect him. The king won't fund a
constable to keep order in this town. He will fund constables to guard the
warehouses of rich merchants in Corsa." Her hands flew as she spoke.
"The only time we see a representative of the king is at tax time."
A low grumble circulated among the gathered. Karigan tried to guide
The Horse around the fringes of the crowd without drawing attention to
herself, but people blocked the entire street, and were too transfixed by
Lorilie to move out of the way.
Lorilie drew herself to her full height, which was not considerable, but
seemed impressive nonetheless. "Will raising taxes on lumber products
protect the folk of North, or other small villages like it? No! It will cast
more beggars into the street. More families will go hungry. Despair, my
sisters and brothers, will consume them."
"The king uses the taxes to fortify the country," the merchant shouted.
"I call that protection, what with all the groundmites lurking about the
borders these days."
The crowd cast questioning eyes on Lorilie, but she didn't hesitate with
her response. "Yes, King Zachary is putting the taxes to good use. He is
refortifying the wall around Sacor City. He is strengthening the defenses
of the castle. This will surely protect the people in the rest of Sacoridia
from groundmites."
This had to be only half the story, Karigan thought, but what if it
wasn't? Maybe the Mirwellians were right. Maybe Sacoridia did need a
new king. But Lorilie Dorran did not want a king at all. What would she
put in his stead? Herself? Karigan shifted in the saddle, guiding The Horse
toward a sudden opening between some clumps of people. She wasn't
ready to side with the Mirwellians or Lorilie Dorran.
"King's folk will protect Sacoridians!" shouted another man.
Lorilie met his outburst with laughter. "Like they protected the families
on the borders? A whole unit of soldiers was slain down the North Road.
Is that protection?"
The arguments went back and forth for some time, and Lorilie churned
the emotions of the audience. She pounded her fist into her hand to add
emphasis. She used facial expressions to affect sadness or anger, her voice
alternately beseeching and persuasive. She derided all forms of
kingdomship, including those who served the king, such as Green Riders,
and accused the wealthy class of supporting the tyranny of the king. The
merchants walked away amidst jeers. Lorilie was a master performer, and
soon she had the crowd waving their fists above their heads and chanting,
"A kingless land is a free land! Monarchy is tyranny!"
Karigan tried to work the horse through the log jam of people and was
cursed at for getting in the way. "Well, if you let me through," she said,
"I'll get out of your way." In the distance she espied the wooden bridge
that spanned the River Terrygood, which upon crossing, would free her
from the main portion of the town of North.
Then, above the chanting, one voice rang out, "She's a Green Rider!"
Karigan froze. Two men pushed through the crowd and pointed in her
direction. Abram's tree poachers. An angry murmur swelled through the
crowd though they couldn't quite figure out who the lumberjacks were
pointing at. There was no one dressed in green.
Karigan had to act fast before the anger of the mob, for mob it was now,
turned on her. If they realized who the lumberjacks were pointing at, they
would tear her apart. She glanced ahead and saw a woman wearing a light
green tunic. It was the burly woman she had seen Clatheas giving a card
reading to the previous night at The Fallen Tree. Karigan pointed at her
and yelled, "There she is! There's the Greenie!"
An expression of bewilderment, then fear, took over the woman's face.
As the crowd surged toward her, Karigan meandered through the angry
people until someone grabbed her boot and tried to pull her from the
saddle. It was the two lumberjacks.
"You're the Greenie," one yelled at her. Fortunately, no one else could
hear over the roar of the crowd. "I heard that troll call you a Green Rider."
Karigan clung desperately to The Horse's mane, and gasped as she was
pulled inch by inch out of the saddle. A well-placed kick from The Horse,
however, quickly ended the struggle, and one of the lumberjacks fell with
a howl beneath the feet of the crowd.
Karigan urged The Horse on toward the bridge, heedless of people who
got in her way. The Horse did not trample them, but rather pushed them
aside like the prow of a boat on the water. When she was clear of the mob,
she galloped the horse over the bridge, his hooves clattering on the
wooden deck, the river churning frothy and turbulent below and sending
up mist and spray that dampened her face. When finally she was across,
and thus free of the town except for a few ramshackle shops and a tavern
on this bank, she reined the horse in and looked back.
It was impossible to discern exactly what was happening— the mob had
become a single moving mass. She wondered what had become of the
woman she had "accused" of being a Green Rider. She had done it not out
of mischief, but to save herself.
A mounted figure stood amidst the mob, a gray figure fixed like a statue
in the middle of a swift-running, roiling stream, unable to move forward or
backward. Karigan felt cold, knowing with some certainty that he watched
her from beneath his gray hood.
Team Played With: n/a
Memory Form: a small compact mirror, completely silver and reflective on the outside—the inside is filled with water that cannot be poured out, and shows a distorted reflection. Indefinitely shareable.
Karigan stepped out into the overcast morning, leading The Horse down
the alley to the main street. The stableboy watched after them wistfully,
probably hoping for another copper. He deserved it, Karigan reflected.
The Horse gleamed despite the dullness of the day. She just could not
afford to dip into her reserves for more coins, but she had made a point of
praising the boy for his fine care.
The main street was still muddy. Townsfolk walked on wooden boards
lined in front of nearly every building and storefront, but the boards didn't
help if one had to cross the street or veer off course. Women held their
long skirts high, their faces in perpetual frowns as they trudged through
the slop. Karigan grimaced herself as her foot sucked in the mud. The
shine on The Horse's coat would not last long.
She mounted to let The Horse deal with the mud, and they went in
search of a food vendor. Shopkeepers were just opening their doors and
throwing back shutters. A blacksmith fired up his forge and the roar of
flame could be heard all the way out into the street. North could have been
any town awakening, but this one was without refinement. She missed the
cobbled streets of Selium.
She found a shop with cluttered shelves of baked and dried goods,
coarse cloth, axes, knives, rope, handsaws, blankets, lamps, flour, sugar,
lard… everything a town of this sort could use. She dismounted and
hitched The Horse to a post in front of the shop. She scraped mud off her
boots on an iron rung placed outside the doorway just for that purpose.
As she stepped inside, she heard a shout on the street. She peered
through a window and watched a man, encumbered by two sacks, running
through the mud, making little progress. He was pursued by another man
whose white shopkeeper's smock was splattered with mud.
"Come back with that, you thief!"
The shopkeeper, unencumbered, caught up with the other man, and
jumped on him. The two fell into the muck, each grappling with the other.
Passersby paused to watch the scene. A dagger flashed in the thief's hand,
and he struck down at the shopkeeper. The shopkeeper loosed a hollow
wail that Karigan felt every inch up her spine. The thief had stabbed the
shopkeeper, and no one had attempted to stop him.
The thief climbed to his feet, threw the two sacks over his shoulder, and
walked away. Pedestrians ignored the thief and simply walked around the
shopkeeper's body as if it were no more than a rock obstructing their path.
Someone clucked his tongue behind Karigan. A burly, bald-pated man
in a white smock shook his head, his jowls wobbling. "Old Mael didn't
take any precautions." He patted a short sword sheathed at his side.
Anywhere else, a shopkeeper wearing a sword was an unusual sight.
"Isn't anyone going to do anything?" Karigan demanded.
"Old Garl will be along to pick up his body," the shopkeeper said.
"But the thief—"
"Who's gonna run after him? You?"
Karigan blushed with shame.
"No one wants to risk their hide. I see you are sensible and carry a
sword. Not common on a girl, but sensible. What can I do for you this
morning?"
It took a moment for Karigan to shake off her sense of disgust at how
easily the shopkeeper slid from murder to commerce. She couldn't think
about it. She had to carry out her own mission, and there was no time to
dwell on North's problems. She suspected that if she didn't get to Sacor
City soon, more people would die.
She chose dried meat and fruit, tea, bread, and cheese from shelves, and
some grain for The Horse from a hogshead. She set them on the counter in
front of the shopkeeper.
"Two silvers," he said.
"Why, that's—"Robbery she wanted to say. She held her tongue, the
price raising bile in the back of her throat. But she was, after all, a
merchant's daughter, and not without bargaining skills. "Half a silver," she
said.
The shopkeeper smiled in appreciation. He was a bargainer, too, and
looked so smug that few probably got the better of him. "Two silvers is
how it stands."
Karigan furrowed her brows together. "Half a silver is all those goods
are worth, but I'll raise it to a silver. I can see it is difficult to earn a living
in a town such as this."
The shopkeeper nodded. "A fine offer, but a man needs more to make a
living. A silver and a half, plus a copper."
Karigan shifted her stance. The man didn't give in easily. She wondered
how many people were taken by bargainers such as him. When she
lowered the price to one silver, the shopkeeper scratched his bald head as
if not sure how it had happened.
"One silver is still ridiculous for these goods, but I'll accept the price."
She passed the precious coin across the counter. As she did so, something
gold glittered in a basket of trinkets on display on the far end of the
counter. "How much for the brooch?" she asked.
The shopkeeper brightened. "Why, one silver. Not so much for such a
fine piece." He placed the winged horse brooch in the palm of his hand for
her to look at.
"A deplorable price," Karigan said. "A cheap trinket. One copper is
generous." She knew full well that the brooch was just as much pure gold
as her own, but chances were that the shopkeeper saw it as a gaudy piece
of costume jewelry, as had Torne and Jendara seen hers.
The shopkeeper raised his brows. "That ring you're wearing… A clan
ring?"
Karigan had forgotten about her mother's troth ring. It probably wasn't
something she should wear openly, with its gold and diamond, in a town
such as North. She sensed, however, that the shopkeeper was suddenly
intimidated. Rarely did she ever use the traditional clan bow, but she did
so now. She placed her hand on her heart and dipped low. "Clan G'ladheon
at your service."
"Merchant clan?"
"Yes."
"I should have known. I wondered how you managed to outbargain
me." He chuckled good-naturedly. "A copper it is, for the brooch."
Karigan couldn't believe her good fortune. She thought she would end
up having to pay at least half a silver. She pushed the copper across the
counter and took the brooch. It was heavy and cold in her hand. All of the
blood hadn't been polished off. The folk here were no better than Torne
and Jendara, picking valuables off the dead. She dropped the brooch into
her pocket, collected her goods, and left just as a bewhiskered man dressed
in buckskin strode in, beaver, fox, and mink pelts swaying over his
shoulder.
The body of the shopkeeper had been removed. Farther down the street,
a crowd assembled. Most folk were garbed in the colorless textiles or
buckskin of the town. A few merchant types added a splash of color.
Karigan loaded the saddlebags with her newly purchased goods, and
mounted The Horse. The sooner they left town, the better.
They plodded carefully toward the assembly. Members of the Anti-
Monarchy Society formed a barrier around Lorilie Dorran who stood atop
an overturned apple crate addressing the crowd. Not everyone likes
Lorilie's ideas, Karigan thought idly. Or they just don't like Lorilie.
"You say the king protects you?" Lorilie demanded.
A man shifted uncomfortably in the crowd. "That's right."
The crowd jeered him. He was well dressed, perhaps a merchant, and
definitely not local.
Lorilie held her hands up to quiet the crowd. "I suppose the king does
protect and favor the wealthy. The wealthy can afford it. Your merchant's
guild is as bad as the governors' council, trying to control entire villages
with your trade, and your rules.
"But what of the folk here in North?" Lorilie's eyes seared those of her
audience. "A man was killed this morning in the street. No one was here to
prevent the crime. The king didn't protect him. The king won't fund a
constable to keep order in this town. He will fund constables to guard the
warehouses of rich merchants in Corsa." Her hands flew as she spoke.
"The only time we see a representative of the king is at tax time."
A low grumble circulated among the gathered. Karigan tried to guide
The Horse around the fringes of the crowd without drawing attention to
herself, but people blocked the entire street, and were too transfixed by
Lorilie to move out of the way.
Lorilie drew herself to her full height, which was not considerable, but
seemed impressive nonetheless. "Will raising taxes on lumber products
protect the folk of North, or other small villages like it? No! It will cast
more beggars into the street. More families will go hungry. Despair, my
sisters and brothers, will consume them."
"The king uses the taxes to fortify the country," the merchant shouted.
"I call that protection, what with all the groundmites lurking about the
borders these days."
The crowd cast questioning eyes on Lorilie, but she didn't hesitate with
her response. "Yes, King Zachary is putting the taxes to good use. He is
refortifying the wall around Sacor City. He is strengthening the defenses
of the castle. This will surely protect the people in the rest of Sacoridia
from groundmites."
This had to be only half the story, Karigan thought, but what if it
wasn't? Maybe the Mirwellians were right. Maybe Sacoridia did need a
new king. But Lorilie Dorran did not want a king at all. What would she
put in his stead? Herself? Karigan shifted in the saddle, guiding The Horse
toward a sudden opening between some clumps of people. She wasn't
ready to side with the Mirwellians or Lorilie Dorran.
"King's folk will protect Sacoridians!" shouted another man.
Lorilie met his outburst with laughter. "Like they protected the families
on the borders? A whole unit of soldiers was slain down the North Road.
Is that protection?"
The arguments went back and forth for some time, and Lorilie churned
the emotions of the audience. She pounded her fist into her hand to add
emphasis. She used facial expressions to affect sadness or anger, her voice
alternately beseeching and persuasive. She derided all forms of
kingdomship, including those who served the king, such as Green Riders,
and accused the wealthy class of supporting the tyranny of the king. The
merchants walked away amidst jeers. Lorilie was a master performer, and
soon she had the crowd waving their fists above their heads and chanting,
"A kingless land is a free land! Monarchy is tyranny!"
Karigan tried to work the horse through the log jam of people and was
cursed at for getting in the way. "Well, if you let me through," she said,
"I'll get out of your way." In the distance she espied the wooden bridge
that spanned the River Terrygood, which upon crossing, would free her
from the main portion of the town of North.
Then, above the chanting, one voice rang out, "She's a Green Rider!"
Karigan froze. Two men pushed through the crowd and pointed in her
direction. Abram's tree poachers. An angry murmur swelled through the
crowd though they couldn't quite figure out who the lumberjacks were
pointing at. There was no one dressed in green.
Karigan had to act fast before the anger of the mob, for mob it was now,
turned on her. If they realized who the lumberjacks were pointing at, they
would tear her apart. She glanced ahead and saw a woman wearing a light
green tunic. It was the burly woman she had seen Clatheas giving a card
reading to the previous night at The Fallen Tree. Karigan pointed at her
and yelled, "There she is! There's the Greenie!"
An expression of bewilderment, then fear, took over the woman's face.
As the crowd surged toward her, Karigan meandered through the angry
people until someone grabbed her boot and tried to pull her from the
saddle. It was the two lumberjacks.
"You're the Greenie," one yelled at her. Fortunately, no one else could
hear over the roar of the crowd. "I heard that troll call you a Green Rider."
Karigan clung desperately to The Horse's mane, and gasped as she was
pulled inch by inch out of the saddle. A well-placed kick from The Horse,
however, quickly ended the struggle, and one of the lumberjacks fell with
a howl beneath the feet of the crowd.
Karigan urged The Horse on toward the bridge, heedless of people who
got in her way. The Horse did not trample them, but rather pushed them
aside like the prow of a boat on the water. When she was clear of the mob,
she galloped the horse over the bridge, his hooves clattering on the
wooden deck, the river churning frothy and turbulent below and sending
up mist and spray that dampened her face. When finally she was across,
and thus free of the town except for a few ramshackle shops and a tavern
on this bank, she reined the horse in and looked back.
It was impossible to discern exactly what was happening— the mob had
become a single moving mass. She wondered what had become of the
woman she had "accused" of being a Green Rider. She had done it not out
of mischief, but to save herself.
A mounted figure stood amidst the mob, a gray figure fixed like a statue
in the middle of a swift-running, roiling stream, unable to move forward or
backward. Karigan felt cold, knowing with some certainty that he watched
her from beneath his gray hood.
