Fable - Ask The Baker War

[Aelita]

VEL LAMEUS

​

It started with the death of a baker.

No matter the version told, the story from the streets was this: an argument between a baker and a Guardsman over the price of a loaf concluded with the baker dead by the Guardsman’s hands.

Now, Vel Lameus has ceased to function. Unorganized rioting took over the streets. Misplaced vigilantism and lootings ensued. The city guard’s authority was ignored as protests grew to the point of clogging the streets. The demands of the crowd was a cacophony – some demanded lowers taxes, others cheaper food, some called their High Council representative a pauper unfit to rule.

Being in the heartland and not an extremely wealthy city, Vel Lameus held a meager garrison prior to the riots. Coupled with the fact that Vel Anir trains and arms every citizen, the city’s guard was unable to quell the unrest within a week.

Therefore, the real Anirian Guard was called. A general marched toward Vel Lameus with troops and Dreadlords to end the unrest on their terms.

---

Aelita journeyed with the general’s army toward Vel Lameus. Being near enough to the city, she got roped in to the mission.

How the general would end the riot was not communicated to Aelita. She heard no word on if the plan was to use the threat of violence or to actually inflict violence upon Anirian citizens.

The city was in sight. The villages the army passed by on the way to the city were quiet – the common folk hiding in their homes to avoid sight of the army.

Aelita rode with several Dreadlords and fellow Initiates.

With a whisper to another Initiate, Aelita asked, “Do you know what the plan is... when we reach the gates?”

 

[Amos]

Vel Lameus - Ogrim & Son's Workshop

"Nothing to worry about lad! Back home this sort of thing happens all the time!" The dwarf shouted, ushering one of his 'sons' towards the heavy doors of his foundry. The boy, if he could even be called that standing at well over six feet, was carrying a heavy wooden beam.

He thrust it directly against some of the other objects that had been placed against the doors as a makeshift barricade. Bracing them so that the riots did not spill over into the Workshop.

"That's...concerning." Amos said from his perch on a large crate. He had tried to help in the creation of the barrier, but Ogrim and his sons had quickly insisted that he simply take a rest, all of them now knowing well enough about his condition. "Apologies, I don't know if that's offensive."

Ogrim let out a laugh. "Lad, I don't think you have a bone in your body that could create offense. Ease yourself, this will blow over, as it always does. We just have to hole up here for a bit."

A shrug rolled over the dwarfs shoulders. "We have food enough to last a few days, and if someone breaks in..."

He motioned to the forging hammer that hung from his belt with another chuckle.

It had surprised him just how welcoming Ogrim had been. He had first tracked down the man because of the reputation of his shop. Known in Vel Anir as one of the best and most precise blacksmiths in all of Anirian territory. When they'd met, Amos had been shocked to find the man was a dwarf, having never heard of one living this far east.

Apparently through his work he had earned himself a place in the usually rather xenophobic Anirian society. eventually gathering enough renown that House Virak of all people heavily invested in his workshop.

"Well, I suppose at least now we have more time to work on the design." Amos said, trying to smile as best he could.

"Ha!" The Dwarf exclaimed with a wide grin. "Now you're thinkin'."

 

[Nymrethyl Sharion]

Vel Lameus - Dockter Artem's house.

---

With grim and directionless purpose, Nym sat at a table in a poorly lit room. The only window in was boarded up, light filtering through a narrow gap. What had originally been a quiet mission to make contact with an ally in the city, had turned into a nightmare. Now, the elven citizens of this city would only suffer for her presence here. Which is why she'd been holed up in this same room since the riots started, at the mercy of others' kindness.

The front door opened, and instinctively Nym's hand went to her sword. She relaxed as soon as her eyes adjusted to the outpouring of light, and a familiar face stepped through. Dockter Artem - a dirty old Anirian, with stringy brown hair and as many scars on his face as wrinkles. Aging by the day, but still going strong, in that way that humans did.

"The army has entered the outskirts of the city," Dockter reported in as he strode through the cramped room. He set his coat on the back of his chair and plopped down with a huff. Sprawled out, boots sliding mud across the floor. "They'll be at the gates before sundown."

Nym shifted the hood that hid her hair and ears, pulling it further up. She'd washed off her warpaint and stashed her armor, adopting the garb of a peasant. She did not want to be recognized. "My people are ready to evacuate any civilians seeking refuge. When it comes time."

Dockter leaned forward and rapped a knuckle on the wooden table. A human superstition, she recognized.

"If it comes time. This can still end peacefully," he said. Nym gave him a pointed look, the doubt clear in her eyes. "You believe that too," he retorted with a look just as hard. "You must, otherwise you'd already be out there fighting with the rebels." When Nym's expression did not soften, Dockter sighed, leaning back in the chair once more with a creak of the wood. "Lots of us out there will wait and see what Vel Anir has to say. Nobody wants to leave their home, princess."

 

[Bengt Bertuli]

"What rotten luck," Bengt, a dwarf who hid in the shadows of a bell tower, spyglass pulled from his eye. He collapsed the item, and put it in one of the hidden pockets in his jacket.

"What?" Oliver, a human, asked.

"Looks like a whole fuckin army is makin its way across the fields," he laughed bitterly, and got up from his perch, dusted his hands, and made his way down a steep staircase. Stubby legs pumped quick. He grabbed up a leather case that had been rested against the wall on his way down with a heft.

"Oh..." Oliver said worried. "Well, shit, gonna make getting those olives out of here all the more difficult,"

Bengt grinned. "Eh, don't give up quite just yet, Oliver my boy, might see some coin out of this still,"

Oliver nodded.

The two continued their way down the bell tower as the sounds of protest roared like low thunder in the air.

 

[Aelita]

The Anirian army led by General Marr continued toward Vel Lameus. Whispers of their approach began to spread throughout the city.

For now, the protests all around appeared to be in a lull. Rioters still roamed the streets, looting did continue, but it was more as if people were standing in the streets the streets and bringing all sense of normalcy to a temporary halt.

Though, the noise in front of Orgrim & Son’s was beginning to pick up...

Picked out by a captain, Aelita and the Initiate she was talking to were brought ahead of the group they were marching. She was soon brought before General Marr – or at least, the small band of roughly two dozen riders that surrounded him.

Addressing those with him, General Marr said, “We’re to ride toward the gates first. Stay your blades until my command.”

With that, the General gave the signal to follow and the forward party marched toward the city gates.

As they approached, General Marr called for a Third Level Dreadlord to ride alongside him. The reason became apparent as this Dreadlord opened her mouth and unleashed a magically empowered voice that echoed throughout the city.

“By the order of General Marr of the First Army,” a harsh, feminine voice began – reaching places such as the Dockter House, the bell tower, Ogrim and Son’s, “A curfew is in place until the next sunrise. Return home or face arrest.”

“Return home.”

“Return home.”​

“Return home.”​

 

[Amos]

"Lad, this is insane." Ogrim said as Amos finally finished explaining what it was he actually needed the foundry to do.

"The steel alone would be-" The old Dwarf shook his head as he continued to stare down at the plans Amos had laid out. A hand was scratching at his beard, and one of his apprentices stood beside the table marveling at what had been drawn out. "No one has ever made anything like this."

Amos nodded his head. "Yes, It's why I thought I would need a man of your tal-"

Before he could finish his sentence, a loud crash echoed out.

It came from the upper halls of the shop, and as the trio turned almost immediately they saw a brick topple from a now shattered window high up on the wall. Amos almost instinctively skirted back as pieces of broken glass tumbled everywhere onto the floor, though none were close enough to hit him.

"Kress!" Someone shouted, though Amos didn't see how.

"Buggers are throwing bricks now!" Ogrim complained. "This is ludicrous!"

Amos frowned, suddenly finding that the Dwarf's earlier comforts were not holding as firm as he might have liked. A small cough echoed through his lungs, but he said nothing about his increasingly frayed nerves.

He knew he was safe here, hopefully. Then suddenly a voice boomed out, calling across the city and reaching even the workshop. Amos turned his head, as did every other person around him, listening carefully to the echoing announcement. "Ah, well, this will either be good...or really bad."

Ogrim commented, more to himself than anyone else.

Amos felt his heart sink into his stomach.

 

[Bengt Bertuli]

Down in the streets, cloaked as Bengt was, it was easy enough to avoid scrutiny. Long as he kept to the shadows. Stayed quiet. Nothing that weird about a short stocky figure when half the city was out in the streets and some dreaded mage used their magick to scream out warning across the city.

Their mum must've been real proud of them.

"Uh, best we, best we just get in doors, Bengt, you know, out of sight, out of mind," Oliver said.

Bengt grinned, back pressed against shady alley wall. He peered round the corner and down the street where a crowd of civilians stood off against a wall of armored guard. Their tall shields glittering in the sun as the gathered crowd hurled insult, and detritus at the guardsman. Clamored for justice for the slain baker. Mardov Unsten. Some even chanted his name. "Come on, Oli, you think some brick is gonna stop a Dreadlord?"

Oliver gulped. "No but, they wouldn't send... what?"

Bengt scoot back. "Dunno, couldn't right tell ya, but I will tell ya this," he looked down the other way, saw the cost was clear of any armored goons. "I ain't stickin' around to find out," he made across the street at a quick clip. Only fast enough to look like someone staying out of trouble.

Oliver went wide eyed, looked to the line of protesting Anirians. Saw that the guard broke ranks. Snatched one person from the line and dragged them back to their phalanx of shields as the civilians shout in outrage and horror. Begged, ragefull, as they asked where they were taking that boy.

"Fuck this," the young smuggler said as he hurried after the dwarf.

 

[Nymrethyl Sharion]

The voice of the Dreadlord woman reached them, reverberating through the thin wooden walls of Dockter's home. The sound grated on Nym's ears, for more than one reason.

"A curfew will make evacuation more difficult," she said, voice still cool, eyes searching Dockter's expression for any sign of how the man was feeling. He had his arms folded over his midsection, and was looking up at the dusty rafters. Nothing but fatigue on his old, wrinkled face. "What can you tell me about this General Marr?" she asked.

      Return home,                Return home,

The voice still echoed, the only response between them as Dockter continued to look upwards.

"Dock?" Nym asked. She leaned forward across the table, reached a hand out to the man, but stopped short of touching his shoulder. "Did you hear me?"

"Aye, I heard you." He stirred, but didn't get out of his seat. "Nothing to tell. The plan stays the same no matter what."

Nym frowned. She would disagree, but she'd never seen Dockter in this kind of mood before.

The man slapped his leg, and made a funny grunt, in the way that humans did. "Whelp, it's time to head out again." He heaved himself up with a lot of motion, and went to go pull on his overcoat.

At the door, he paused. Scanned the room with the look of a man who might not return home. Seemed like he might say something more, but then turned and shut the door behind him.

Nym was cloaked in dusky candle light again. Her nails raked across the table as she clenched her fists. She'd never felt so useless in her life. With a grunt of rage, she stood and took her anger out on the table, knocking it over. The table skidded across the floor and came to a stop in the middle of the room.

---

Dockter Artem's house was on the outskirts of town, not far from the city gates. As Dockter stepped outside and turned from a back way to the main street, he saw crowds of people still outside. Either slow to react to the call of the approaching army, or acting against it on purpose.

"Dock, over here!" One of the Muinoz boys, Besen, waved him over to a quieter spot in front of a shop. Crates and sacks of grain had been stacked up around the entrance to create a barrier. Ducking between other citizens, Dock hurried over to the makeshift refuge. Another of the brothers put a bottle in Dockter's hand, nodded at the older man without a word.

"Penley and June are further up by the gates," Besen reported in. "The city guard's gathering there, pushing to get control of the gatehouse. Guess they're trying to save face before the First Army arrives."

Dockter uncorked the bottle and took a swig, grimacing at the taste of cheap brandy. "Fuck," he said, both at the bitter liquor and Besen's words.

 

[Aelita]

As Marr’s forward party approached the gates, the city watch there coalesced and pushed back against the rioters nearby. They attempted to intimate the rioters – mentioning the fact that Marr’s army arrived and that anyone on the streets when they showed up would be dead.

At least for this moment, the threats in combination with the Dreadlord’s voice echoing through the streets worked very well. The mob backed away from the gates and retreated further into the city.

General Marr, Aelita, and the rest of the forward party arrived soon after.

Approached by the city watch’s captain, Marr asked, “What’s the situation? Anything organized, or is this just a mob?”

The watch captain succeeded in giving Marr a detailed answer. Fortunately for both Marr and the captain, it was mostly accurate: that the mob was rowdy and disorganized. No one or group seemed to be leading anything. A lot of tensions built up due to the rising costs of food and other peasant grievances.

Hearing the chanting of the crowd in the distance, Marr then asked the captain, “Who’s Mardov Unsten?”

“A baker,” the captain replied, “Died last week. Started this whole mess.”

Aelita witnessed this whole conversation. She saw General Marr look to the side in silent thought.

Marr gave a look back to the approaching First Army. It would be no time before they arrived.

General Marr took a deep breath before he announced, “The captains will sweep through the streets. Push everyone back into their homes or a jail cell.”

“What about if they actually resist?” the captain asked.

"In mass, that is," he clarified as Marr initially raised an eyebrow and gestured at his sword at the question.

Aelita’s jaw tensed after hearing that question. The grip on her horse’s reins tightened.

General Marr took another moment of contemplation. Looking to the captain, Marr told him, “Then we satisfy the mob’s bloodlust with that of the elves and dwarves.”

A scapegoat. Use of an undesirable group to take the fall for chaos. Even if put to the sword, the deaths of a few random non-humans is far better than the deaths of human Anirians in most general’s eyes.

An unfortunate situation for Orgim, Bengt, and Nym should Marr go down that path.

In the meantime though, as the First Army poured into the city they would attempt to enforce the curfew with only the bare amount of blood necessary.