KMC Forums - Elet.

I know I already posted a lot of this, but here's some more... More action in this bit.

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The sun was setting.
In the town of Elet a fire was burning. The main square was thronged with people as most of the population turned out to celebrate the festival of Euare, God of Farmers and Agriculture. Although snow was falling those around the fire were warm, if slightly intoxicated.

James and Simon Rolder were bored. After six hours of celebration with strangers they were looking for someone they knew. James knocked Simon’s shoulder, pointing at the tall figure of a man standing by the fire.
“Is that Scot?” he asked his brother, grinning slightly. As the two brothers approached the fire Simon called out,
“Ho Scot!”
The figure by the fire turned, a warm smile on his face as the firelight danced across his blue and white tabard. On the front of the garment the white wolf’s head that had given the common guardsmen their nickname of the King’s Wolves, or just ‘the wolves’. Tales from the cities told of corrupt guardsmen who used their power for their own ends but in the lands around Elet the wolves were regarded with affection.
“Simon!” their friend replied, “Have you two been having fun?”
“More than you seem to be having. Are you on duty?” James said, laughing.
“Aye. There was talk of a brawl. So far tonight there has not been the smallest sign of violence, from anyone. Well, I had best be off on my rounds.” He left, merging into the shadows, and the brothers were lost in their thoughts for a few moments. After a long minute of thought Simon reminded his older brother, “We should get back home. Father will be busy with all the extra customers. I expect Aindru will have already been dragged from the party to help.”
James smiled as he thought of their strong-willed sister, “Aye, and she will have had to leave behind her court. Half the boys in the village are in love with her.”

Simon laughed but suddenly grew more sombre when he saw the crowd gathered outside The Travellers Lute, their father’s inn. “What goes on?” he asked one of the crowd. The man turned to face him and replied
“Thom’s having another argument with Eipe Ason. Only this time Ason has brought a couple of armed ‘friends’ with him.”

The two brothers looked quickly at each other then unceremoniously shoved through the crowd. Inside their father stood facing four armed men, engaged in a shouting match with the man who was leading the group. Their father was an imposing figure, standing at nearly six feet. His black hair, tinged with grey gave him an aura of authority and his brown eyes blazed with anger. Nearly as imposing was the shining broadsword held loosely in his hand. It was a memento from his soldiering days, as were the other weapons hanging around the inn. Behind the bar itself was where the broadsword usually hung and it and the two rapiers by the door were polished often.

The man leading the group yelled in a deep, throaty voice, “I don’t care who you intend to leave this inn to! I am here for Aindru!”
“So that’s your game? You wish to marry a game a third your age?”
“I will have her!”
Thom’s voice lowered to speaking tone as he answered, “You are scum, Eipe. My daughter will be your wife over my dead body.”
The men around Eipe began to spread out, unsheathing their weapons. Two held longswords, and the third a rapier. Eipe himself pulled a broadsword much like Thom’s from it’s scabbard. He said “So be it,” before suddenly cutting downward at Thom’s head, who only just managed to knock aside the blow before it spilt his head in two.

The two brothers turned as one and snatched the rapiers off the wall. Eipe’s men, hearing the noise of the swords, turned to face them. Both James and Simon had been trained in swordsmanship by their father, and although Simon was the better duellist James put his height and strength to good use in their practice bouts. Still, three on two was not a good thing. The two longswords moved to James, wrongly reckoning him to be more dangerous. As they got closer James recognised one of them,
“Hett? I thought better of you.”
The man named Hett Ason, a supposed friend of Simon looked apologetic and was about to speak when his companion cut him off, spitting the words, “Blood’s thicker, Hett.”

Hett’s eyes narrowed, and he hefted his longsword. He was good with a blade. But not as good as Simon, a voice told him. He gave a bitter smile, remembering all the times he had tried his hardest at something, and Simon always surpassing him. Then he lunged.

James danced to one side as the blade speared the air where he had been a moment before. He smashed his fist into Hett’s face, the stunned man dropping to the floor. He turned to the other man to find him grinning.
“I haven’t duelled one on one for years, boy. I thought maybe I had lost the knack. I haven’t,” he said, launching into a series of overhead blows that forced James back across the room.

The man’s rapier lashed out again at Simon, who only dodged within a hairs breadth of being disembowelled. This time the man had overreached and Simon struck back, making a deep cut across the man’s face. Simon moved to strike again but the man kicked out, catching Simon in the shin and they both fell to the floor. Simon was up in an instant, as was his oppenent.

Yet again James parried, as his assailant unleashed a frenzy of blows. He was backed against a table, and sensing an opening, he threw himself back onto it, feeling the man’s blade cut along the inside of his thigh. As he rolled off the opposite side of the table a cry rang out. Eipe staggered backward, the hilt of Thom’s blade protruding from his stomach. His own sword was on the floor and evidently somehow Thom had disarmed him a few moments before.

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"If clowns warred on monkeys, and the monkeys had guns, and were trained to use them, who would win?"

Death only gives another set of choices.

He who dies with the most toys. Still dies.