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This is a short story taking place on the isle of Rydale. Will add to it, post by post, when I can.
Finian woke to the rhythmic clop of horseshoes on cobblestone, an incessant sound from outside that was all too audible, as if it were right beside him, no thanks to the thin walls of his home. His humble cottage stood proudly next to one of the three main roads in his town of Ardlinn, and while this proximity to such avenues might have been a convenience for a tradesman like himself, it was clearly the opposite this early morn, and nearly every day of his adult life that he could remember. It was only the past few years that such noises were routine, when the Elynsorians came to the area on horseback--and no small amount of them, at that. Horses in Rydale were rare, often toys of the nobility or the few lucky merchants that could afford them. But those from Elynsor seemed to have no shortage of the beasts, as if their feet were shy to touch Rydalian soil.
The stories that his grandfather Eimer told him of Elynsor were far different from the reality he had known. In the tales woven by the late old man, those from the larger land to the southeast were curious traders and decidedly friendly folk--people who were all too easy to make deals and associate with, when they did stop by.
But what Finian knew of them now was a distinctly different set of facts. These 'traders' were more like soldiers, making daily patrols around the isle on horseback and clad in armor, as if it were some hostile land filled with enemies for them to look out for. And perhaps they weren't wrong about such an assumption, as their own presence wasn't particularly welcome in Rydale. The Elynsorian 'knights', as they called themselves, claimed to have inducted the isle into their realm of protection and order. But it was a far cry from the sense of 'order' that Finian once knew.
After all, his people weren't ones to simply submit to the will of some foreign authorities. All boys in Rydale learned of two important things at an early age--one was how to play the sport of Rinnach... and the other was how to fight, with fists and staff and hammer. The clans of the island had once warred against each other, after all, and no inhabitant of Rydale was exempt from the duty of a warrior.
But while tensions were high, there was no grand war to be had in the face of such an invasion. Elynsor's knights were well trained, even better equipped, and seemingly had no shortage of resources, including skilled infantry and archers. In addition, they had with them 'mages', men and women who could conjure various elements to their bidding. Together, they made for a fighting force that was far more advanced than anyone on Rydale could fathom. Some lords recognized this, and swore fealty to the Elynsorian crown. Those who didn't were never heard from again. Through whispers and rumor, Finian had heard of the defeats of famous Rydalian heroes and the sacking of villages on the eastern side of the island by the Elynsorian knights, but little more. His village of Ardlinn in the west still stood, relatively peaceful in spite of the apparent occupation. He couldn't imagine it any other way.
Despite his fear of such change, the change itself seemed to come to him. The clatter of horseshoes on stone came to a gradual stop, and then there was yelling... a lot of it. Loud, angry yelling. Finian groaned in lament of his inability to sleep in. The fiery-haired merchant rubbed his eyes, yawning, and took a cautious peek out his window to see what the commotion was all about.
His sharp eye spotted a few faces that he recognized, and some that he didn't. Those he was familiar with were Muiris, Orin, Ultan, Ardghal, Braden, Ciar, Donal, and Aonghus--local young men in their early 20's, most within his age group and only a few years younger than him at most. Finian knew everyone in town, and respected them as honest young men. While they were no strangers to a bit of sporty fun when not working their respective trades, it was hard to believe that they'd actually be in any serious trouble...
But the faces that Finian didn't recognize explained much. The head knight, or the one that appeared to be throwing his weight around the most, was most definitely a new presence in Ardlinn. Not that the last one in his place was someone that the villagers were intimately familiar with. The Elynsorian troops were practically interchangeable, for they didn't care to fraternize with the locals all that much. Those that did were to be disciplined by their superiors, only to come back hardened, or transferred off elsewhere entirely. While the last captain of the patrol was quiet and stern, this one was constantly barking, angry about something. The distinctive ring of swords being unsheathed could be heard. There were over a dozen armored knights in this patrol, but they had spared no degree of caution against eight young men in plain clothes.
"Get the fuck up against the wall! Now!" barked the new knight. His gleaming silver armor bore gold accents and a distinctive crest on the left pauldron, the significance of such colors lost on the citizens. His authority would not be displayed by exposing heraldry or uniform, but cold sharp steel, as he brandished his sword menacingly. "You fucking hooligans. First day looking over this town and you're trying me already!"
Orin, the smallest of the bunch, frowned. Along with the others, he had been forced up against the nearby wall of the cottage located directly across the street from Finian's in a neat line. The young men had mallet-like sticks in their hands, which showed that they had just finished a game of Rinnach--weekly games that Finian himself had often participated in. "Bat we were joost..."
"You'll address me as SIR," interrupted the armored official. "And if you stupid little shits actually remembered the laws in this town, you'll know that there is no public assembly to be had here, especially not in the fucking STREETS while patrols are being made! And that includes your stupid... hammer and ball game!"
Ultan, one of the more robust and lively of the group, fought the urge to respond, but ultimately failed in his bid. "Et's called Rinnach, SIR, and et's pawrt of awr tradihshuns. We've been doin' dis lon' before ye came here--eeven da lahst leader o' da 'gard was faine wid it."
The head knight's eyes widened. "It is PUBLIC. It is ASSEMBLY. And therefore, it is PUBLIC ASSEMBLY. Which is ILLEGAL! You know, I ought to throw the fucking lot of you in jail," he threatened, triggering some uncomfortable shifting from the line of men.
"That is, if it weren't already so full of Rydalians. It does raise the question of why you make so many criminals. You know, in Elynsor, we don't exercise tolerance for thugs and hooligans. Perhaps it's a good thing that your lord has chosen to adopt our laws? Makes me wonder what in the Void you were doing before we came along?"
"Doin' joost faine," muttered Orin under his breath.
"What did you say?" asked the captain, his voice flaring.
"Nuttin'," replied Orin.
"No... you did say something. Say it again."
"I didn' say anytin'," insisted the youth.
"You little punk. You just WANT to see what happens when you try me, don't you?!" roared the knight. Stepping forward, he grabbed Orin by the hair and slammed his face into the side of the cottage. A sickening crack could be heard. As he pulled Orin back off of the wall, a distinct splatter of blood appeared where he had forced such an impact, and the youth's handsome visage had been marred by what was now a badly broken nose. The others cried out in protest and moved to assist their friend, but were forced back against the wall at swordpoint by the other knights.
But the captain hadn't finished, not quite yet. Dragging the struggling Orin along with one hand, he kicked the door to the cottage down and pulled his suspect inside.
"Gyah... aggh, please...! Hukk--"
Finian couldn't see what was happening inside, but he could guess; the new head knight was putting a beating on poor Orin. The sounds of violence could be heard, but only the two inside the apparently empty home would know of all the details.
"Ee's just a kid! You fuckin' animals," cried Ultan. "Ee's the youngest of oohs ahll! We were just avin' a game... do ye want to take dat away from oohs too?!"
"S... Shut up!" was the only rebuttal that the Elynsorian holding him at bay could muster. "Stay there!"
Finian frowned, then hurried to throw on a set of clothes before opening his front door. "Ey! What's dis?! Deese men are innocent--"
He was met with the point of a sword at his neck by one of the other knights, and whatever words that he had meant to say afterwards were caught in his throat.
But by the time he could formulate a meaningful sort of protest, it had been done. The captain emerged from the house, without Orin, using a rag to wipe blood from his hands. "Little fuck. He's got more fight in him than he looks."
He turned his attention to the rest of the group. "I don't want to see the lot of you, playing your stupid little game, here ever again. Got it? Good." After cleaning the last bits of blood from between his fingers with the dirty rag, he threw it on the ground. It was soaked... and the other young men couldn't help but look at the otherwise insignificant piece of fabric with widened eyes.
The Elynsorian knights backed away from them and got back on their mounts in short order, swords still on display as if to ward off any immediate retaliation. And with that, they trotted off, their message delivered.
RYDALE - THE REBELLION
Finian woke to the rhythmic clop of horseshoes on cobblestone, an incessant sound from outside that was all too audible, as if it were right beside him, no thanks to the thin walls of his home. His humble cottage stood proudly next to one of the three main roads in his town of Ardlinn, and while this proximity to such avenues might have been a convenience for a tradesman like himself, it was clearly the opposite this early morn, and nearly every day of his adult life that he could remember. It was only the past few years that such noises were routine, when the Elynsorians came to the area on horseback--and no small amount of them, at that. Horses in Rydale were rare, often toys of the nobility or the few lucky merchants that could afford them. But those from Elynsor seemed to have no shortage of the beasts, as if their feet were shy to touch Rydalian soil.
The stories that his grandfather Eimer told him of Elynsor were far different from the reality he had known. In the tales woven by the late old man, those from the larger land to the southeast were curious traders and decidedly friendly folk--people who were all too easy to make deals and associate with, when they did stop by.
But what Finian knew of them now was a distinctly different set of facts. These 'traders' were more like soldiers, making daily patrols around the isle on horseback and clad in armor, as if it were some hostile land filled with enemies for them to look out for. And perhaps they weren't wrong about such an assumption, as their own presence wasn't particularly welcome in Rydale. The Elynsorian 'knights', as they called themselves, claimed to have inducted the isle into their realm of protection and order. But it was a far cry from the sense of 'order' that Finian once knew.
After all, his people weren't ones to simply submit to the will of some foreign authorities. All boys in Rydale learned of two important things at an early age--one was how to play the sport of Rinnach... and the other was how to fight, with fists and staff and hammer. The clans of the island had once warred against each other, after all, and no inhabitant of Rydale was exempt from the duty of a warrior.
But while tensions were high, there was no grand war to be had in the face of such an invasion. Elynsor's knights were well trained, even better equipped, and seemingly had no shortage of resources, including skilled infantry and archers. In addition, they had with them 'mages', men and women who could conjure various elements to their bidding. Together, they made for a fighting force that was far more advanced than anyone on Rydale could fathom. Some lords recognized this, and swore fealty to the Elynsorian crown. Those who didn't were never heard from again. Through whispers and rumor, Finian had heard of the defeats of famous Rydalian heroes and the sacking of villages on the eastern side of the island by the Elynsorian knights, but little more. His village of Ardlinn in the west still stood, relatively peaceful in spite of the apparent occupation. He couldn't imagine it any other way.
Despite his fear of such change, the change itself seemed to come to him. The clatter of horseshoes on stone came to a gradual stop, and then there was yelling... a lot of it. Loud, angry yelling. Finian groaned in lament of his inability to sleep in. The fiery-haired merchant rubbed his eyes, yawning, and took a cautious peek out his window to see what the commotion was all about.
His sharp eye spotted a few faces that he recognized, and some that he didn't. Those he was familiar with were Muiris, Orin, Ultan, Ardghal, Braden, Ciar, Donal, and Aonghus--local young men in their early 20's, most within his age group and only a few years younger than him at most. Finian knew everyone in town, and respected them as honest young men. While they were no strangers to a bit of sporty fun when not working their respective trades, it was hard to believe that they'd actually be in any serious trouble...
But the faces that Finian didn't recognize explained much. The head knight, or the one that appeared to be throwing his weight around the most, was most definitely a new presence in Ardlinn. Not that the last one in his place was someone that the villagers were intimately familiar with. The Elynsorian troops were practically interchangeable, for they didn't care to fraternize with the locals all that much. Those that did were to be disciplined by their superiors, only to come back hardened, or transferred off elsewhere entirely. While the last captain of the patrol was quiet and stern, this one was constantly barking, angry about something. The distinctive ring of swords being unsheathed could be heard. There were over a dozen armored knights in this patrol, but they had spared no degree of caution against eight young men in plain clothes.
"Get the fuck up against the wall! Now!" barked the new knight. His gleaming silver armor bore gold accents and a distinctive crest on the left pauldron, the significance of such colors lost on the citizens. His authority would not be displayed by exposing heraldry or uniform, but cold sharp steel, as he brandished his sword menacingly. "You fucking hooligans. First day looking over this town and you're trying me already!"
Orin, the smallest of the bunch, frowned. Along with the others, he had been forced up against the nearby wall of the cottage located directly across the street from Finian's in a neat line. The young men had mallet-like sticks in their hands, which showed that they had just finished a game of Rinnach--weekly games that Finian himself had often participated in. "Bat we were joost..."
"You'll address me as SIR," interrupted the armored official. "And if you stupid little shits actually remembered the laws in this town, you'll know that there is no public assembly to be had here, especially not in the fucking STREETS while patrols are being made! And that includes your stupid... hammer and ball game!"
Ultan, one of the more robust and lively of the group, fought the urge to respond, but ultimately failed in his bid. "Et's called Rinnach, SIR, and et's pawrt of awr tradihshuns. We've been doin' dis lon' before ye came here--eeven da lahst leader o' da 'gard was faine wid it."
The head knight's eyes widened. "It is PUBLIC. It is ASSEMBLY. And therefore, it is PUBLIC ASSEMBLY. Which is ILLEGAL! You know, I ought to throw the fucking lot of you in jail," he threatened, triggering some uncomfortable shifting from the line of men.
"That is, if it weren't already so full of Rydalians. It does raise the question of why you make so many criminals. You know, in Elynsor, we don't exercise tolerance for thugs and hooligans. Perhaps it's a good thing that your lord has chosen to adopt our laws? Makes me wonder what in the Void you were doing before we came along?"
"Doin' joost faine," muttered Orin under his breath.
"What did you say?" asked the captain, his voice flaring.
"Nuttin'," replied Orin.
"No... you did say something. Say it again."
"I didn' say anytin'," insisted the youth.
"You little punk. You just WANT to see what happens when you try me, don't you?!" roared the knight. Stepping forward, he grabbed Orin by the hair and slammed his face into the side of the cottage. A sickening crack could be heard. As he pulled Orin back off of the wall, a distinct splatter of blood appeared where he had forced such an impact, and the youth's handsome visage had been marred by what was now a badly broken nose. The others cried out in protest and moved to assist their friend, but were forced back against the wall at swordpoint by the other knights.
But the captain hadn't finished, not quite yet. Dragging the struggling Orin along with one hand, he kicked the door to the cottage down and pulled his suspect inside.
"Gyah... aggh, please...! Hukk--"
Finian couldn't see what was happening inside, but he could guess; the new head knight was putting a beating on poor Orin. The sounds of violence could be heard, but only the two inside the apparently empty home would know of all the details.
"Ee's just a kid! You fuckin' animals," cried Ultan. "Ee's the youngest of oohs ahll! We were just avin' a game... do ye want to take dat away from oohs too?!"
"S... Shut up!" was the only rebuttal that the Elynsorian holding him at bay could muster. "Stay there!"
Finian frowned, then hurried to throw on a set of clothes before opening his front door. "Ey! What's dis?! Deese men are innocent--"
He was met with the point of a sword at his neck by one of the other knights, and whatever words that he had meant to say afterwards were caught in his throat.
But by the time he could formulate a meaningful sort of protest, it had been done. The captain emerged from the house, without Orin, using a rag to wipe blood from his hands. "Little fuck. He's got more fight in him than he looks."
He turned his attention to the rest of the group. "I don't want to see the lot of you, playing your stupid little game, here ever again. Got it? Good." After cleaning the last bits of blood from between his fingers with the dirty rag, he threw it on the ground. It was soaked... and the other young men couldn't help but look at the otherwise insignificant piece of fabric with widened eyes.
The Elynsorian knights backed away from them and got back on their mounts in short order, swords still on display as if to ward off any immediate retaliation. And with that, they trotted off, their message delivered.
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