Rydale - The Rebellion

[Takimaru]

This is a short story taking place on the isle of Rydale. Will add to it, post by post, when I can.

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.

 

[Takimaru]

Re: Rydale - The Rebellion

The Elynsorian knights trotting off without receiving any just desserts made the Rydalians sick to their stomachs. But they would just have to take this one on the chin, as there was nothing they could do about it for now. Yet the men weren't to just stand around looking defeated--they had remembered the cries of pain and horror that came from inside only seconds earlier. Orin couldn't have been in particularly good shape.

The group hurried into the cottage, where they found Orin face down in a small puddle of blood. Finian soon followed, feeling a lump form in his throat. He wanted to say something to the knights, but found himself cut off. And now he wanted to utter something, anything, that would bring even a glimpse of hope or comfort to his fellow villagers...

But upon seeing the scene within, he would find that he wouldn't be able to gather the words for that, either. They were nowhere to be found, as what the Elynsorian captain had done was not something that could be taken back, nor erased so easily. Orin's face had been mangled nearly beyond recognition. He was wheezing loudly, and now missing several teeth. There was a series of cuts on his eyebrows and lips, and one eye was swollen shut, blood trickling from one corner. His head appeared misshapen somehow, and patches of his hair had been ripped out where the captain had gripped them. He was still dazed, and it was hard to tell if he even had enough clarity to recognize the faces of his friends around him, though he did shed a few tears--perhaps less from the realization of what happened and more from the abundance of pain. His hands were clenching his stomach, and they were reddened with blood.

Ultan's brow furrowed, and he didn't wait long to press the stunned men into action. "We need to get 'im to the doctor! Quick, someone run ahead an' call Clancy! I'll hoist 'im up... one, two, tree! Alright, let's get a move on."

Finian also snapped out of his momentary stupor of disbelief to help transport Orin's battered body. Ciar and Donal sprinted ahead, while the rest all ran their friend to the home of the village physician. Though Orin was in bad shape, there was at least a fair amount of hope in the hearts of those carrying him. Clancy was a reliable and wise doctor, his treatments practical yet effective. He had led people in worse shape on the road to recovery. Still, he lived close to the other side of Ardlinn, and they would need to hurry. They did just that, moving down the road as fast as their feet could carry them.

But while the others had their eyes on the road ahead, Finian couldn't help but look behind him. What he saw was an eerie trail of blood. Not the drip of a bleeding nose or stubbed toe, but the constant spatter of a fatal wound. The ground had been soaked in much of it, and it was terrifying to think of how much Orin had lost. Finian had never seen so much blood in his life. He grasped the youth's bloody hand and squeezed it gently in the hopes of receiving some kind of response. It never came.

By the time the group had gotten to Clancy's door, the doctor had taken a step out and looked aghast at what they had showed him. They exchanged looks before their collective gaze settled upon Orin's body. The wheezing had stopped... he had fallen deathly quiet.

Cries of anguish echoed through the street, and Finian could only look down at the body of the young man he had known for much of his life. Had he only been a few seconds quicker to stop this madness, he might've been alive. That, and several thoughts like it, ran through the merchant's mind. What did he just watch? What exactly had happened?

~~~~~​

Orin's funeral, and the processions around it, came and went in the traditional Rydalian fashion. Often, the body was viewed openly by mourning visitors, as much of the death in Ardlinn was of the elderly, their many years having taken their toll. But the young man's mutilated figure was a hard thing to look upon for long, his face covered by a black rag. Finian set his jaw as another wave of regret set in. He left the home, its air thick with the cries of family members, to join with Ultan and the others--Muiris, Ardghal, Braden, Ciar, Donal, and Aonghus--just outside.


"I can't believe it... Orin's gone," said Ciar in a quiet voice. He was the second youngest of the group, next to Orin, and the closest to the one who had passed.

"Ee said tree damn words, words dat any of us would 'ave uttered in a second. And ee got dis?!" cried Braden.

"We should've all said it," remarked Donal firmly. "If dey would've killed awll of us roight den and dere, maybe it would've been better. Fer da gods and fer everyone else in Ardlinn t' witness."

Ultan bore a steely look in his eyes. "No... enough is enough. We know whose fault it is. Not awrs, but deirs, dose goddamn Elynsorians. We don't know wot in da world Lord Callaghan is tinking, accepting da 'laws' o' deese Elynsorian arseholes... but we need t' do someting about dis. I've eerd dat a group in neighborin' Loughmore 'ave started a resistance. Damned if we let 'em step on us, kill oos off one by one like dat."

"But dey've got horses, an' strong armor... an' mages," remarked Ciar somewhat meekly.

"Like I give a damn wot dey 'ave!" spat Ultan. "Dey'll eventually kill us all anyway, if dis keeps oop. If we can take joost one of 'em... make 'im feel da pain we felt, then it'll be enough for me. We joost need to open oop da lines of communication with dose in Loughmore. Dey'll know wot to do."

"Ultan's right," Aonghus chimed in. "If we don't do SUMTIN'... we'll never enjoy anudder game of Rinnach again, let alone each ooder's company. I wouldn't live wid m'self knowin' dat we let Orin die and did absolutely nuttin' about it!"

Ultan looked to Finian as he approached. "Good o' ya to join us, Finian. It's been a while... shame dat we had ta meet again under sooch circumstances."

"Indeed," replied Finian, with any words that might follow getting caught in his throat.

"I was just tinkin'... ye've always been a good Rinnach player. A tactical one at dat. Won't ye help us see justice done, fer Orin's sake? Ye know all da bes' routes between Ardlinn an' da neighborin' villages. We could stahrt ah network, get supplies an' messages back an' fort. You've a big cart and an ox, don't ye? No one will suspect a ting."

 

[Takimaru]

Re: Rydale - The Rebellion

Ultan's proposition stunned Finian. The merchant took a look around at the other young men, and saw a near palette of various expressions. Anger, regret, sadness, and fear was plain to read in their eyes and on their faces. No doubt they were searching for a way to cope with the loss of their friend. Ultan was just the most outspoken about it. He had always been the type to act first and think later... hence his plans of rebellion.

Finian thought back to the events that had transpired just a few days prior to the viewing. He would never say as much out loud, but the mere thought of such an event was frightening. The lot of them had been helpless to do anything about it. What were they going to do? Fight back against fully armored Elynsorian knights with nothing but wooden mallets? He remembered a time where he was once more passionate... but now, as a more mature adult, there were things that he couldn't ignore. His business, his ailing mother. It was true, he was headed into Loughmore very soon to peddle his wares. But to risk the relative stability he had worked so hard to achieve was too much.

"Em... yeh, 'bout six years ago. I 'aven't de time to really practice mooch since den. But I tink we all joost need t' calm down... let it sink in a bit more. No one in Ardlinn is really fit t'deal wid deese knights, yeah?"

Ciar couldn't help but agree. "Ee's roight. We couldn' do nootin'."

Finian continued. "Listen, I joost tink we should stall the ball a bit before hoppin on dis too fast. Besoides, d'ye even know anyone in Loughmore? Would ye just go around town askin' anyone 'boot a rebel alliance? Et's a good way t' get yerself trown in jail or worse by da knights collectin' taxes an' patrollin' round dere."

Ultan frowned a little. "Well, em... et's part o' why I was hopin' to get ye ta help oos wid deese tings. Ye aren't goin' to joost let Orin die like dat... fer no reason udder den da whims o' deese Elynsorian tools?"

"I don't... I wish dere was sometin' more we could do. But joost da eight of oos? Yeah, we could 'ave 'em in a scrap--if dey, like oos, were joost in dere farm gear and wid nootin' else but dere fists. But dey're hardly off dere horses, an' always travelin' in groups o' five err more. Wooden mallets aren't gonna do mooch against 'em."

"So yer not helpin' us den."

Finian slowly shook his head and sighed. "I joost want ye to tink about yer lives, yer future. 'Ave a rest, an' a drink... and maybe a few days from now, see if yer still tinkin' about gettin' revenge." Braden and Ciar nodded, while Ultan kept his jaw set. Perhaps he was their only beacon of hope for communicating with Loughmore, but now he was dashing them.


"Cept dey're in da tavern mooch o' the time, an' dey won't let oos play Rinnach anymore, an' I 'aven't slept well since Orin got snuffed!" Aonghus exclaimed angrily.

Ultan put a hand on Aonghus's shoulder. "Eh... let 'em go. Joost come back if ye ever change yer mind, Finian."

"Yeah... I'll see ye 'round," was all that Finian said in reply, padding back to his home. After all, there was work to be done.

 

[Takimaru]

Re: Rydale - The Rebellion

Finian took one last look at the wooden oxcart he had just finished loading. It was time for one last checkoff of the various elements of his inventory on parchment. Seven wheels of Caghalmey cheese, a dozen full leathers, four kegs of Halvey's signature ale, two barrels of fresh West Rydalian conkers--a seasonal fruit--and of course, five pounds of Ardlinn butter. His trip would take him through Loughmore to the east, then north to some of the other villages. He had but a few pieces of silver to his name. Luckily taxation on his goods by the local lords was still relatively low in those parts, last he checked, and so he'd be able to peddle these wares for a decent price... hopefully. Separating himself from the troublesome events of the past week or two, he hopped onto the front of the cart and with a crack of his whip, urged his ox Sweeney forward. Perhaps a bit of time away from Ardlinn would take his mind off of things.

Not even half an hour later, the trip itself proved to be far more soothing than he expected. The slow yet steady beat of Sweeney's hooves against the dirt road, the rolling green landscape ever present around him... it was one of the perks of traveling as a merchant. Others might find the trips boring or troublesome, but he had found an appreciation for solitude. And there was much of it this time around, as few others were traveling on the same road--not highwaymen, not other merchants, not even migrating families. But he would be closing in on Loughmore soon, within the hour, and so the order of things to be done filled his present mind once again. Halvey's ale and the butter rarely had trouble finding a buyer, even in Ardlinn's sister town, though the conkers, cheese and leathers might have to be sold at places further north. He would make it to town long before lunch, which was perfect timing for the central marketplace. The other merchants in Ardlinn hadn't bothered getting up quite as early, and he would undoubtedly reap the benefits of being so timely.

His train of thought was cut short as he came over the last hill, spotting a gathering not far from Loughmore's main entrance. A squad of eight knights had planted themselves in the middle of the road. It wasn't terribly unusual, as Elynsorian patrols usually started in the morning, but despite being mounted, they appeared to be doing little more than loitering. Finian couldn't help but find it ironic, seeing as any group of Rydalians doing the same thing would be interrogated and subject to some beatings. His trusty ox continued to trudge along, and he had the mind to turn back, given what he saw... or perhaps just wait for them to disperse and begin their patrol. Gripping the reins, he fought with himself for a few seconds over whether or not to turn around... but soon enough, it seemed that the decision was made for him.

The knights in front of Loughmore's entrance turned to look at the approaching merchant, and pointed in his direction. If Finian's heart could stop, it would have right then and there. He then saw the Elynsorians beckoning him with waves of the gauntlet to continue forth and meet them at the checkpoint. The urge to turn and head back to Ardlinn remained deep in his chest, but it didn't take long for him to realize that it would be a huge mistake, as the knights' steeds would outrun Sweeney's steady gait in no time. He'd likely be arrested or killed for 'insubordination' or something made up to that effect. Better to show that he was an honest merchant looking to make a living. It was the truth, after all. So he pressed on, allowing his ox to come to a stop when met with the warning of forged Elynsorian steel.

Finian swallowed. He hoped that they wouldn't notice the dagger sheathed at his side--really, quite minimal protection against highwaymen for a traveling merchant--and use it to accuse him of some ridiculous plot. Orin's mistreatment and resulting death still lingered fresh in his mind, but he did his best to remain calm. After all, he was not taking part in public assembly, nor was he doing anything suspicious.

The first man to acknowledge him was an admittedly handsome knight, with dark hair, pale skin and dark blue eyes... no doubt the kind told in fairytales to young girls. But despite his disarming looks, he gazed upon the visiting merchant with an air that Finian could only describe as one of subtle haughtiness. The knight was better than Finian and he knew it, but he didn't need to remind the Rydalian of as much.

"Top o' the mornin' to ye..." greeted the head Elynsorian knight in a false Rydalian accent. It wasn't a phrase that Finian himself had ever heard one of his own townsmen say, but for some reason it had become a cliche amongst Elynsorian knights--they believed it to be a common Rydalian greeting. It wasn't. They were already off to a rocky start, but diplomacy wasn't terribly necessary when one had weapons and armour as finely made as these Elynsorian officers. Still, this knight spoke in a far less angry manner than the one that Finian knew from Ardlinn...

"So, a merchant, I take it? Declare your goods."

"Em... well, oi have eh, se'en wheels o' Caghalmey cheese, a dozen full ledders, four kegs o' Halvey's ale, too barrels o' fresh conkers, an' five pounds o' Ardlinn budder," recited Finian in order, nearly word for word with how he had quietly listed it off at his home.

"Oh, I see... Fancy wares, aren't they?"

"Not really, sir..."

"Hoh! He knows to call me SIR," laughed the man, pausing to turn and shoot a knowing look at his subordinates.

"Now that's a good Rydalian, if I've ever seen one," said one of the other knights, a burlier man with a full beard.

"I like you already. But surely you do know, as of the new decree of last week, conkers aren't fit to be traded past this point anymore--they say the pests transfer to other foods. And alcohol isn't even legal in Loughmore now. Seems they had to outlaw it due to too many damn drunks causing trouble. Shame, really. Normally, we'd have to confiscate these goods for being transported in our area of jurisdiction. Though, seeing as you weren't aware of this, I may turn a blind eye to what you're carrying here, since you're such an honest man. I'd say thirty silver should be more than enough, and you can continue your business here for today, so long as you don't sell the ale and conkers here."

Thirty silver! He had maybe half that, which was usually more than enough to handle the taxes of these goods. Had they changed the rules so quickly here as well?

"Turrty silver? Em, I don't got meself dat mooch, sir. I've 'boot nine, dough..."

The head knight's brow furrowed in disappointment, as if he were an upset father. "That's unfortunate. Then it seems as though we'll have to confiscate what contraband you do have. The ale and conkers are just enough to add up to the thirty silver, after all." He motioned for the other knights to move, and so they did, taking the four kegs of ale and the conker fruits. Finian even spotted one of them stashing away two wheels of the cheese.

"Ey!" Finian cried out in protest. "Ye can't just take me stoof!"

"Unfortunately, it goes in compliance with the laws of Loughmore. If you've an issue with it, you're free to pay a visit to the mayor of the town."

"N-No, oi mean da cheese!"

The broad-chested knight who had tucked the cheese away somewhere on his person immediately denied the accusation. "I didn't take any such thing. Only what is now contraband in these parts," he declared solemnly. Given their difference in size, the merchant was unlikely to be able to take it back without getting the same treatment that Orin did. There were no witnesses nearby other than the Elynsorians. Who would believe him?

Finian could only watch as the knights tested the quality of the very goods they were confiscating--tapping the kegs, even having a small taste so as to make sure it was what he said it was. His stomach sank as rage burned in his chest, and the urge to reach for his dagger and thrust it into the necks of those shamelessly stealing his goods grew more and more pronounced.

But in the end, even he wasn't that reckless; such a move would only get him killed right then and there. For now, he would have to turn the other cheek. Yet what a painful experience being so passive proved to be.

"And now you're qualified to proceed," pronounced the head knight with a calm smile. "Just ah... keep these laws in mind next time you travel to Loughmore, won't you?" With a quick motion of his hand, he signaled for the others to move aside so that Finian could continue on. This knight was far more courteous than the captain of the guard in Ardlinn, and yet something just felt so cruel about this transaction.

And so the merchant, with a newfound weight upon his heart, gently cracked the whip and urged Sweeney forward. He was now reduced to a dozen full leathers, five pounds of Ardlinn butter, and probably five or less wheels of the cheese... if that. The cart felt much emptier, and the ox moved forward at a somewhat faster pace thanks to the absence of the ale and fruit. Finian had managed to avoid Orin's fate in this awkward encounter, and yet he felt empty inside. Something had been lost, but he wasn't quite sure what it was. Tears welled up in his eyes as he continued on into the heart of Loughmore.