Market Day in Maerone --- &RPaward

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Atkins
Posts: 125
Joined: Wed Aug 19, 2020 12:55 pm

Market Day in Maerone --- &RPaward

Post by Atkins » Thu Aug 12, 2021 10:49 am

Ely edit 17 Aug 2021:

1-6 qps, depending on length and quality.

Potential +1 qp: if part of a series: o

Total: 2 qps

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*Market Day in Maerone*

He was large, wearing a hooded cloak of clean white wool, he moved comfortably amongst the market day crowd. He bore no ornament or badge, no visible weapon. He smiled broadly as he circled amongst them. His grey-steel vambraces peeking from beneath the arms of his cloak as he clasped arms and shoulders. His grey shot beard framed his wide, weather worn face.

After a time, he jumped up onto the wooden platform.

"Hear me now!” the man called. “At this very moment, men die for you. In the west they fight monstrous beasts of the shadow. Ferocious three eyed cats the size of horses, frogs the size of bears, and machinations of tainted power than may wipe an entire company of soldiers from existence in seconds.”

A boy in the crowd laughed nervously. The man paused and grinned at the boy. “It does sound like a mad joke doesn’t it? Something a madman might preach about in the streets perhaps?” he chuckled lightly. His face hardened and he continued, “if only I could tell you it wasn’t true...” he let the silence hang for a moment. He spread his hands wide, “but I will not lie to you.” He paused again, “Elsewhere trollocs, the eyeless, and worse… I have seen what they do. And they do not care if you think they are a fairy tale.”

He moved among the crowd setting his hands firmly on the shoulders of a pair of farm boys. Looking them in the eye, each in turn.

"My brothers fight not for themselves, but for you. And for you."

He squeezed their shoulders and turned taking the hands of a woman in his, " and you."

He turned suddenly, jabbing his finger into a little boy’s chest. "And you!" he laughed easily. The crowd laughed with him.

“And so, we fight. And so, we die. And so, we hold onto the path that we may light a way out of darkness."

"Why?" he asked. “Why?” he paused taking in his silent crowd.

“For the light?” squeaked a girl. The man smiled at her. “For the light yes.” He looked at the crowd again, “but what does that mean?” He clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace slowly again. “A difficult question, one we all must struggle to answer. Like many difficult questions, just when you think you’ve got it in hand…” his hand shot out snatching at the air then opening slowly. “Our answers may turn into so much smoke.”

“It’s hard answers for hard questions I’m afraid.

Why do we fight for the light? Because the creator wants us too? Because we fear the dark? Because it is the right thing to do?

All of these things, yes. But more than any of them we fight for our brothers and sisters, our fathers and mothers, our sons and daughters. For the spark in each of their hearts that can bloom into joyous light or curdle into rancid dark. That,” he spoke jamming a thick finger into his own chest, “is what we fight for. For we know where the battle is waged and the cost of losing it. We are all born children of the light, and we can all walk the righteous path; with or without the sunburst on our chest.”

He walked in front of the crowd up and down slowly, chin to chest, as if deep in thought; then paused and turned to them again.

“So, the light is good and the dark is bad yes?” he smiled again. Many smiled back nodding their assent. “We all know this and yet still we struggle. We see bad things every day and we let them go. A man treats another poorly, cheats him, pushes him, belittles him… Any of a thousand small offenses. Maybe you think that there is nothing you can do; that you don’t have the strength, the power, the will to combat these things. That really, these things are small things, and in the end they don’t matter…” he paced faster now his hands and fingers punctuating each point to the crowd. His face turned grim.

He looked at them, hand to heart, his words low and pleading, “but they do… they do my children. Each slight is a drop of poison to your soul.”

“I do not say ‘despair of goodness in this world’, I say ‘make goodness of this world.’ Let that light, that gift of the creator, guide you.

You know the path to righteousness, you can feel it in your heart just like I can. But right is not easy is it? What is good is not bought cheap…

The flesh is weak, but the spirit is strong. Let your spirit be guided by the light and so be ruled by right. Be kind. Do good. Show your neighbor the path. Do not let passion hinder what is right. Wrap yourself in righteousness as if it were armor. Because it is armor…” He crossed his arms, tapping vambraces together.

“And now!” he looked out at the crowd, “I must arm you!” He laughed and waved towards the back of the crowd. Two men, soldiers with shining armor, sunburst cloaks, and swords at their belts moved to the platform; each carrying a bulging brown sack.

The man leapt down and met them grabbing a sack. “Pass them out.” He grabbed pouch from the bag and held it high. “Your weapon,” he boomed.

“Armed with bread?” derided a local. The prophet walked to him and took him gently by the shoulder. He tapped the side of his skull with a finger, “I’ve always found that it is hardest to be righteous when hungry!” He laughed moving through the crowd passing out food and coin.

At last, sack empty, he hopped back onto the platform. “Let me leave you with this. I have said many words today, but I pray you remember these. Do good. Be righteous. If like me, you hear his call and your heart stands still; if you know that you must go and do his will; if you know that you were meant for more; to protect and nurture your brothers and sisters… If you believe as I do that we must carry the creators banner… Then I can help you start your journey. If you stand beside us, of this pattern we can make a glorious tapestry.”

He began to walk towards the western exit of the market. He pulled a leatherbound book from his belt and pressed it into the hands of a young soldier. Clapping him on the shoulder as he continued on he called, ‘it may help you on your way!”

The soldier looked down at the book. Stitched upon the cover were the words The Way of the Light.