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Thread: [M] Tales of the Highland [IC]

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    Default [M] Tales of the Highland [IC]

    Tales of the Highland

    With Edward the Bruce dead, and the crown in the hands of Clan Stuart, regularly being challenged by clan Douglas, and others try for the throne as well, like clans Callahan, McFoster, and Credence.

    James IV has since passed, with Queen Mary presently in captivity in England.
    Many clans still fight each other over land, or resources, or even the throne.

    England is mainly preoccupied with a war in France, yet Vikings still pillage our boarder towns.

    While others are bound to family, home, and clan, others have taken to wondering as their lives have been put to the torch. Going where the money, vengeance, or safety takes them.

    ===================================

    The street lands in the town of Kirkcaldy flicker as a night watch man strolls down the cobbled street, a hooked pike supported on his shoulder with a lamp in hand.

    Laughter and music could still be heard from the Majestic Otter, as the sun had hardly set.
    Inside, patrons were still eating and drinking to their hearts content, sharing stories and banter between sips and mouthfuls while other more quiet corners whisper about the fighting between the clans, and the towns burned by the vikings. Others sit quietly alone.

    ===================================

    Finley McIntyre sat alone at a small table by the wall as the bards continued to play their song, some roast duck and bread accompanied with light mead sat before her and she slowly picked at it.

    She had been traveling for about a month now, and this was not her first stop. She had hunted and tended to herself and others on her travels, yet the memory of her home in flames as she fled would not leave her mind.

    she tore off a piece of bread and idly chewed it. It was good bread, and almost fresh, but it pleased her little.
    She continued to slowly eat her meal.
    Last edited by Highland Sniper; 07-16-2022 at 12:23 AM.
    Stark, the name given to my ancestor for a feat of bravery. It means Strength, or Strong.
    The motto give: fortiorum fortia facta (made stronger and braver)

    I say, let us all be fortiorum fortia facta.

    Spoiler: I'm an Ajin! 

    Spoiler: extra 

  2. #2
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    Morgan drained the last dregs of his cup and set it down on the oaken table, continuing to nod along to Hamish's enthusiastic story telling. His hands flapped like the wings of the bird he resembled; his thin mouth jabbering and sharp nose seeming to point the direction of his tale.

    "So as the mists cleared I see her, fair as dawn and twice as bright. Singing like an angel, she was. Drawing me toward her with her siren song."

    "One of the fae, no doubt." That was Duncan's low rumble. Short and squat with gravel in his throat. Small wonder his family tree was rumoured to have dwarves in it's branches.

    "Aye, so she was, and as mischievous as a child with a prank on her mind. She led my fool's feet to the nearest bog and a tangle of roots. A tripping soon followed."

    Duncan roared with laughter, foam spilled from his mug to further wet the well sodden table. Morgan's low voice cut through the raucous din.

    "That explains why you arrived in town resembling a mud pie. What was Keira's reaction?"

    "A scolding to leave my ears ringing and a swift march to a tin tub to scrub away my shame." Hamish quipped. "What of you, o mighty blacksmith? How went your day?"

    "As the day before, and the day before that. Fire and steel and sweat."

    "Join us on a hunt tomorrow!" Duncan exclaimed, clapping his friend on the shoulder. "We spotted fresh tracks of deer in the woodlands. Get some fresh air and make some coin. Rory-" He indicted the bar owner barking orders to the barmaids. "-is fair pining for fresh meat."

    "-and there's been no Vikings needing expulsion for months." Hamish continued, exhibiting the pair's occasionally exasperating talent for working in tandem. "Your father's forge is outfitted to equip an army. You won't be missed."

    "I'll mull it over." With that Morgan got up to head to the bar. It was unlikely to be an early morning.

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    "Why don't you try this?" A small fire appeared at the tip of her finger.

    "How'd you do that?" The boy questioned in wonderment.

    The girl giggled, "Like this, Silly." And she proceeded to teach him the small bit of magic.




    Malyss awoke with a ray of sunlight hitting his eyes. He lifted himself and found Russet, his horse, grazing on some forage. He whistled for the long-haired, russet-colored horse and she came trotting along. She was built for endurance rather than speed - she could go miles and miles without needing to rest. She was a good horse, one that he had had for nearly 15 years, and of course with every good horse when it came to hunting succeeded a good dog. A bloodhound named Sable. She was at his side.

    "Hey girls," Malyss said with a heaviness in his voice; it was husky and rough. He gave Sable a pat on the head as he got up from the ground, grabbing his stuff and swinging it up onto Russet. He rubbed the horse's head calmly and gently.

    He often dreamt of her. Catarine... but she wasn't the only thing. A myriad of nightmares chased him for years, making him lose sleep and he was almost always drenched in sweat the moment he woke up. Over the years, however, it had gotten easier. The nightmares did lessen and although the anger was still there, it was controlled. It didn't own him anymore. He used it to fuel his crusade instead... to end the fey who dared to harm the ones he loved. It was almost futile. She was one fey in a world of many and her name was...

    Helena.

    Malyss was known all over Orkney for being a hunter, and he wasn't only renowned for his skills - he was labeled as bizarre and given the name "Hunter of Shadows" for he did not only hunt animals. The anger at the beginning of it all, when he was fifteen, had him struck with hate in his heart... hunting animals was a means to have food in his stomach and to make money... and hunting fey was out of spite and to kill Helena. But then the fey girl, Catarine, came back into his life and taught him differently. She was -

    Malyss shook himself from his reverie when a sudden sound was heard in the thicket. It was like a twig snapping. He quickly donned his bow and aimed it for the bush and for a moment all was quiet... until a rabbit came into sight and in that split second an arrow went straight through the animal's heart, rendering it dead. He grabbed the deceased rabbit by the ears and tied its feet together, slinging it across his horse. He gave Russet a pat on the shoulder before jumping up on her back.

    The three were off and as they made their way through the woods Maylss hunted rabbits to sell.




    As the man across from Malyss examined the rabbits the market bustled with life.

    "Ten pence for all of 'em."

    Malyss gave no objection and the man handed him over the coins.

    Russet and Sable were being well taken care of by the stable boy. Russet received her hay and Sable her stripped raw chicken with a couple of turkey necks.

    With his valuables on him - valuables meaning his only coinage and bow as well his hatchet - Malyss headed for the nearby tavern. He had never been there before but he was used to unfamiliar places and got around easily.




    The rowdy barroom did not bother him. It was full of commotion as the bards sang their songs and others told their tales of fey and women and treasure. He made his way over to the barkeep and the barkeep seemed suspicious of Malyss as he looked him over and said, "Never seen you 'round here." He was not at all friendly. Malyss was, to a lot of people, intimidating. Thanks to his size no less - being six feet and five inches was quite imposing to others and the barkeep happened to be much smaller.

    Malyss' deadpan gaze didn't help his case either as he replied with a serious tone, "I come from Orkney, I'm a hunter by trade."

    "Hm. The bow, I see... and that hatchet." The barkeep did another look over and shook his head, "What can I get for ya?"

    "Water and pottage, thank you." He handed over three pence and headed towards the back of the tavern, away from other folks.

    "Thank you, Master."
    "You're welcome, My Padawan."

  4. #4
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    Finley looked up at the mention of a hunt from a nearby table, and toyed with the idea of accompanying them. Of course, why shouldn't she? It would be good for her to interact with others after so long, and she could make sure they stay clear of anything not meant for men.

    She had a chunk of of duck in her mouth when the tall stranger walked in. We muscled, and a rather bland countenance, the man spoke with the bartender for a moment fore taking a seat at a darkened table and she shivered as he walked by.
    Something about that man... She almost felt... fear. It would probably be best to keep her distance from that one.

    She looked back over at the assumed hunters to see one of the man, another well muscled man who likely swung a hammer for most the day, got up and walked over to the bar.

    She swallowed another bite of bread and found that her meal was finished, saved for a small hunk of duck.
    She popped it into her mouth, grabbed her mug, and sauntered over to the men.
    "I'm willing to come along on your little hunt," Finley said, "if you're willing to take me. You guys can make sure I don't get dragged away by satyrs, and I can keep this fool from being drawn away by another fair fae lass."
    And she gave him a playful punch to the shoulder.
    Stark, the name given to my ancestor for a feat of bravery. It means Strength, or Strong.
    The motto give: fortiorum fortia facta (made stronger and braver)

    I say, let us all be fortiorum fortia facta.

    Spoiler: I'm an Ajin! 

    Spoiler: extra 

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    "Keeping Hamish from getting distracted is akin to catching a bird with your bare hands." Morgan chuckled. "I haven't seen you around before lass, are you a visitor to our fair town?"

    "Morgan barely see's anyone around." Hamish fired back. "If he's not in his forge he's on the trail. Methinks to avoid optimistic mothers with an eye to pledge their daughters to him."

    The subject of the remark gave his friend a none-too-kind sideway glance. "If you have the bow you have our invitation madam. I'm Morgan, this is Hamish, our vertically challenged friend here is Duncan."

    "It be not my fault God made other people too tall to appreciate the smell of grass." Duncan said levelly.
    Last edited by Rothwell; 07-17-2022 at 01:19 AM.

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    "Aye, I'm from afar off... a town that was about a month west." She said, a little solemnly, "May Haimer was put to the torch."

    She tried for a calm sip of her mead in an attempt to hide her tears. The images flashed through her mind.
    She lowered her mug. "I've been alone for the past month." She said.
    Stark, the name given to my ancestor for a feat of bravery. It means Strength, or Strong.
    The motto give: fortiorum fortia facta (made stronger and braver)

    I say, let us all be fortiorum fortia facta.

    Spoiler: I'm an Ajin! 

    Spoiler: extra 

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    One of the barmaids brought Malyss his food and drink and as he ate he overheard the conversation that happened to be closest to him. They were conversing about hunting and normally he wouldn't think twice about attending something social, however, when the young woman talked he suddenly stopped eating. And then she spoke of May Heimer; he couldn't empathize with the young woman but he wondered who could've torched her home. Malyss glanced at the man known as Morgan and then looked back at the woman, taking his chair to sit closer, "Do you know who put your town to the torch?" He guessed it was her home by her saddened demeanor.

    "Thank you, Master."
    "You're welcome, My Padawan."

  8. #8
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    She was a little surprised, and found it hard to find her tongue. And those eyes. The eyes of a man who seemed to know more than most. A man of some secrets.

    "Some claimant for the throne," she managed to get out. Strong, stronger than as she felt before this mountain of a man. "Someone opposed to the Callahan claim. If I knew the tarton, I'd wager it was probably Credence or Douglas what done it." Her voice had regained more of it's strength as she spoke. "Drove a fine wedge between me and whatevers still left of me family. S'ppose that's what'cha get for s'pporten a claim."

    She felt something in this man, being this close to him now. Almost like daggers, poised to strike at anything that could be clumped together under a name. Almost anything. Keen daggers, hovering just inches away from an unseen target.
    And there was this sadness, too. Is it possible this was a man of vengeance?
    She could only hope that she looked as cool as she sounded strong.
    Last edited by Highland Sniper; 07-17-2022 at 02:45 PM.
    Stark, the name given to my ancestor for a feat of bravery. It means Strength, or Strong.
    The motto give: fortiorum fortia facta (made stronger and braver)

    I say, let us all be fortiorum fortia facta.

    Spoiler: I'm an Ajin! 

    Spoiler: extra 

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    "We hadn't heard." Duncan said. his tone turning serious. "Haimer is a long road from here. Quite a journey for a young woman by herself."

    "Another sad story of nobles squabbling over the throne and dragging the common people into their greed." Morgan sighed, sparing a nod for the tall man who'd approached them. "Well, fear not Madam. Kirkcaldy is as far removed from from the disputes of the aristocracy as one could hope for."

    "-and populated by enough hardy men to send a would-be conqueror scurrying back from whence they came." Hamish declared, cheeks now flushed from the drink.

    "Foolhardy more like." Morgan smiled. "Do you have a place to stay tonight miss? My sister has a kind heart and a spare room. I'm sure she'd put you up for a while."

    "And what of you sir?" Duncan addressed the newcomer. "You have an out of town look about you. What brings you to Kirkcaldy?"
    Last edited by Rothwell; 07-17-2022 at 12:17 PM.

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    "Oh, uh... I... I got coin to spare for a room. I can handle myself. And I wouldn't want to intrude," she said after turning back to the others who were addressing her.

    She shivered again. Standing those close to that puzzle of a mountain was setting her on edge.
    She took another sip in hopes her drink would calm her nerves.

    "Really, I'm certain I can manage." She said again as a drunk wobbled past in what seemed uncontrollable laughter before uttering what sounded part of a joke, and continued on his way.
    Stark, the name given to my ancestor for a feat of bravery. It means Strength, or Strong.
    The motto give: fortiorum fortia facta (made stronger and braver)

    I say, let us all be fortiorum fortia facta.

    Spoiler: I'm an Ajin! 

    Spoiler: extra 

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