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Post by Meta on Mar 29, 2019 14:49:42 GMT -4
Along the main roads that connect the province to the far reaches of Deep Necluda lies a quite dangerous path: Cliffs bordering deep rapids, with no outpost nor village for miles...
In other words, the perfect spot for an ambush.
Standing on the edge of the cliffside, a figure raises a right hand towards the skies.
"Hark, o Cyclos. Hark, o Zephos. Doth not maketh this our untimely demise. I beseech of thee, gods of wind and thunder, may the storms that come to pass arrive not ere the swift hand of retribution strikes 'pon the unjust." Gripping the cloth of the shirt tight, the figure then tosses its head backwards. "Nay! Deliver us from such misfortune, find in thine hearts the mercy to bring us only gentle autumn breeze..."
Regaining composure with a sharp breath of air, Vox reaches into the coat and pulls out worn piece of parchment, seemingly haphazardly torn from a tome. Looking upwards towards the skies, and then swiftly gesturing towards those on the back, Vox speaks up; "In this early morn, the object of our retribution shall arrive...", Vox then begins gesturing towards the road underneath, its winding path, leading all the way westward.
"A shipment of supplies vital to sustain the beating heart of our revolt. The very lifeblood of the people, and the tools by which we will seize our rightful freedom from the shackles of our oppressors!" The rebel said, raising a fist up high.
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Post by sesh on Apr 30, 2019 23:55:20 GMT -4
A murmur of voices rose from around the far bend in the road. With it the sound of horse hooves clopping on the dirt, wooden wheels creaking on loose axles, and the shuffled of dozens of feet came, too. The first line of faces were caravan guards, their faces weary but resolute all the same. They held old spears and halberds each of shoddy make, with shortswords linked to their belts as secondary measures. Behind them came the first wagon, drawn by two horses each controlled by a merchant holding the reins. Another line of guards, and another wagon, and so on and so forth until a veritable parade filled the winding pass beneath the cliffs. Though the guards looked about for anything abnormal, their vision was obscured by the high stone face to one side and uneven ground that forced their eyes forward and downward both. An easy target, for anyone with the knowledge and skill to take advantage.
The opportunity was not squandered. The sounds of wagons and footsteps was joined by crossbow bolts zipping through the air. The first volley met unsuspecting targets with ease, taking out half the guard and sending the rest into disarray. When the second bunch of shots came seconds later, many of the remaining guards and merchants had found cover in or around the wagons. An unsettling scream sounded from the head of the caravan, and there stood a bearded beast of a man with a curved blade in each hand. He followed his shout with a charge towards the survivors near the front wagon, and soon half a dozen more faces dashed down the road ahead of the merchant line. They ran down the trader's party, cutting down any standing in the road and ransacking each wagon, pulling out any cowering within to spill their blood upon the dirt as well. Within just a couple minutes, the majority of the merchants and their bodyguards were dead, and the remaining few began running in fear the way they came. But in a moment, their hurried footsteps were swapped for shrieks of terror, and then just silence.
From behind the caravan approached a monstrous looking Zora, larger by many of his breed in regards to mass. He bore the head of a killer shark, and his grey, scarred skin resembled that of a bloated, drowned corpse. He held a polearm in each hand, both now dripping with blood from their points and each radiating with unnatural energies. The brutal Zora approached the wagon furthest in the back, and wiped his bloody weapons on the cloth canopy. The bearded bandit approached and offered some sort of odd salute, and the two exchanged quiet words unheard to any at a distance. The sigil on the back of the bearded man's coat, however, was very plain to see. It was the same that each of the others had sewn somewhere on their outfit, apart from the spear-wielding Zora. The banner depicted a milky, swolen face under azure waves and above a bed of coral. The face had no eyes, with barnacles riddling its right half and a tattoo of crossed harpoons on the left cheek. It was a symbol known to many who lived on or by the seas of Hyrule's coasts. The Submerged. The remaining pirates began to grab the supplies from the wagons and toss them into the streets, eager to find the most valuable possessions first.
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Post by Meta on May 6, 2019 18:22:16 GMT -4
As the caravan was ambushed by the pirates, the rebel scouts rushed to their leader, whispering the situation into Vox's ear.
"Ah, what a terrible crime was inflicted upon The People!" Raising a hand high balled into a fist, the rebel leader turns to the fellow conspirators and saboteurs. "Will you stand idly while the banditry takes what is rightfully ours? Perchance it would be a laughable incident should that shipment have been plundered and were we not its rightful owners. A favorable twist of fate by the goddesses above, striking poetic justice upon our oppressors, robbing them of what they took from us..."
Shaking the head, Vox continues. "...but this is not a laughable twist of fate. Nay! It is an affront, an insult, one that we shall not let go by unpunished. Now, my compatriots, I need but only a handful few of you to accompany me. The rest of you remain upon these beautiful necludan hillsides, bows at the ready and eyes alert as a beamos'..." With that, the rebel set forth to meet the pirates.
In a large, loud burst of smoke, the red silhouette of Vox Populi appeared atop a large stone near the ambushed caravan.
"Hark my words, o those destitute of morals and purpose. This day upon which you have chosen to inflict a blow upon the crown was star-crossed. For alas, today you do not attempt to rob the crown, but The People! And we, the people, do not stand idly when our livelihood is stolen from us..."
With a flourish, Vox wrapped the cape around the arm and posed, raising a clenched hand high. "For that reason, I strongly urge you to turn back and retreat from whence you came, lest this day of yours is further marked by shame and defeat. We the people require and deserve this shipment, and we shall not let go of it!"
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Post by Nintendo Mastah on May 8, 2019 19:55:04 GMT -4
*Cue Damien*
Ugh.. What a morning. Damien had stopped a little too long at the latest inn. He had met two nice ladies and had a little too much wine. He had snuck out before the two ladies had awoken and continued his trip to find the rebels. Most of his hangover was gone now, only a slight headache remained. He was sitting on the horse he had rented, named Old Dante, a cloak and hood wrapped around his massive shoulders to hide his identity. As the winds increased in strength, they cooled him off a bit, and he let out a sigh of relief as his headache eased ever so slightly.
Be it that he was now an exile, he was still popular among the ladies with his impressive physique and charm. He had thought long and hard (while Damien wasn't STUPID, he just wasn't always the fastest thinker), and had decided to join the rebels. It was time for a change. The king needed to be removed, hopefully without violence. He had nothing against Elphias personally, the man was just doing what was expected of him, but he was still part of the faulty system at the end of the day.
Grunting slightly every now and then, he was interrupted by the sound of clashing, of a battle! Immediately snapping to attention Damien approached the sound and eventually spotted the source. It took him one look at the men robbing the caravan and their emblem to recognize them. The Submerged, eh? Nasty fellas those, but Damien was nastier. He loosened 'Usurper' from the ropes tying it to the horse and dismounted. "Stay here, old boy", his deep voice muttered to the horse, almost bellowing even when he tried keeping it down. Sword in one hand now, the massive figure that was Damien Lyonsbane approached the caravan.
Gently slapping his own cheeks to wake up properly, he arrived within earshot of the robbery in process. "You fellas seem like you need a hand", he told Vox and his people. "Good thing I showed up. I haven't kicked any pirate ass in quite a while. Even though I want as much of the fun as possible, don't just sit there pissing your pants, feel free to join in". He spat on the ground next to him, now adressing the pirates instead. "Aight, listen up, scumbags. Here's how this is gonna go down. I'm gonna count to three, and by then you will put down the loot and get the fuck out of my sight, or I'm gonna shove my boot so far up your asses you'll be pulling shoelaces out your nose". He counted the pirates, still a little too groggy to get their exact number. 'Crap', he thought. 'There's not enough of them.. How disappointing'. He still had not lowered his hood but these fellas weren't worth it anyway. He cracked his knuckles one at a time, loud enough for the faint of heart to cringe at the sound. "Bring it on, sissies", he said with a mocking tone, making a beckoning gesture with one of his hands. His giant sword now rested on his shoulder, and he was ready to roll.
From what he had heard the leader of the Submerged was quite a fighter and not one to be underestimated, but the rest of his little circus troupe weren't shit to Damien, and he'd squash'em in mere moments so he could focus on the bigger fish.. Pun intended.
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Post by sesh on May 9, 2019 2:53:04 GMT -4
The pirate group dropped their thieving act almost instantaneously upon hearing the first stranger's voice, brandishing various blades and hooks from their belts and glaring wearily at the speaker. The bearded brute spun about with surprising agility, though his bulky mass caused the act to be a bit clumsy. He rubbed the edges of his two curved swords against each other, the heavily-used, chipped edges making a horrible screech when brought together. This discordant scratch was joined by a deep growl and spittle running down his furry chin. The bandits kept close to the carts in paranoia of an ambush, half keeping a stern gaze on the loquacious interloper and the rest scouting about for enemy reinforcements. The sharkskin Zora placed a clawed hand upon the bearded pirate's shoulder, to the latter's surprise, and looked up to the figure with beady, amber eyes.
"Seems like there's been a misunderstanding," the Zora proclaimed, his voice sharp and deep like a dull ice pick pressing against one's ear drum. "I've been lookin' around this loot and, oddly enough, I've yet to see one stamp of The People. I mean, I see this crate of silver", the pirate leader continued, dragging a wooden crate from the wagon beside him and dropped it onto the dirt road. "This one's owned by the Royal Army, you see. Same with the rest. Boys, how 'bout the rest?"
Many of the other pirates kept keen eyes on the mysterious man on the rock, though two looked to their superior and shook their heads. "Right, nothing up there either," he concluded, with feigned disappointment. "Seems like you and yours ran into the wrong caravan. Nothin' here belonging to The People. Unless..." The Zora rose a hand to his mouth and let out an audible gasp, drawing a beastly chuckle from his bearded lackey. "You didn't mean to steal it first, perchance? My, if that's the case, can't see how puttin' us down for a lack of 'morals and purpose' is gonna go too far. Not that we subscribe to such... limitations. Now..."
The Zora pirate made a free hand by holding both polearms in the other, and rose two fingers into the sky. From over hills and behind brush emerged more figures surrounding the caravan sight. In their hands were loaded crossbows, and it was apparent they were the ones who initiated the attack. Each trained their sights on the fellow who spoke with an odd tongue, and they had proven their accuracy through the dead bodies littering the road. "Hear this, Avatar of the People," the leader stated, the levity gone from his dark voice, "You proclaim war against the sea herself this day, for it is her children that you burden with threats. I am Kar'ka, and my many wives are the seas themselves, and my offspring are these Submerged that bring your end. Seems to me The People will lose a tongue before the night has come."
Before he could signal the bowmen to shoot, another voice sounded from down the road. Kar'ka offered a sideways glance to recognize the figure, then looked to his bearded lieutenant. "Barbo, kill the meaty hothead. I'll give you one of these wagons all for your lonesome if you trade that one's head for it." The thuggish pirate nodded feverishly and ran off to the second stranger, blade in each hand. He charged like a feral beast, slobber rolling down his cheeks with anticipation. He held his long knives at either side and prepared to cut down the confident newcomer. Kar'ka turned his eyes back to the original trespasser, and lowered his hand swiftly. The crossbowmen around the edges of the caravan let loose a volley of bolts, all aimed to the figure atop the rock.
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