Historia NovorumBoard

The square of this particular gathering was a mournful one, with little appeal to the traveling kinds. A solid dark expanse loomed above, starless, holding an unrelenting expanse of suppression and misery. This was the nature of the town, to be not enjoyed, only existed in. Rimming the featureless grey clearing were a rise of buildings and alleyways, the only indication of any conscious residence on all's behalf. The promise of the outlying houses, edged in darkness and grey, reflected the meagre gathering in the centre of the square.
The drab sparse collection of shaggy miners and mole-headers fit into the town like a leaf into a pond. They filled the town in the barest sense, driving the life of the outpost, but nought else.

"Well, you're certainly a tough crowd to please. Hark, I live for challenge! Hither to wither me, I shall not dither. I'm sure you all have some sentiment of merriment?" The jester persisted, masking his desperation for an ally or glimmer of hope.

The audience did not sway. Not a breath, not a cough.

"Hoo-rooh, you shall see. A coin of which the lot will need. A single, a soul, for one or two, I will prick and I will prude!" He changed, giving a drop of effort into the crowd, rapidly losing hope of their appreciation for fun. Giving a quick twirl, the jester propelled himself in a colourful circle, stepping nimbly around his own legs. Whirling his arms up and over his head, he came to rest in front of a young child, clasped by his mother. Lowering his hands smoothly, continuing his smooth fluid action, he presented his bare hands to the child, showing palms and nothing else.

"Ei drud, do you see? Not a shine for you or me!" He happily chanted, picking back his own rhythm from the dejected crowd. Another elegant pirouette from the nimble jester brought him wheeling to the eyes of another dilapidated audience member; a mother.
"Miss, a fair woman of tint, here is there now a glint? Where are my coins, my cash, my mint?" An effortless transition into a cartwheel brought the jester contrasting to the other side of the circle, flashing blues and violets to a grouchy looking miner. "I do not seek to spill your loins! There is only good for you, my boys. Hark, hooray, what's this today? You have found my silver coins!"

The jester, pouring his rapidly vanishing will into his remaining actions, rolled his wrists in front of his unfazed audience member hypnotically. From an apparent crevice, the joyful jester appeared to pull a coin from the beard of the glum miner. The jester pulled a curious look, and rapidly warped it into a melodramatic shocked expression as he continued to pull out shiny metallic coin after coin from the miners beard.
He began throwing them up into the air with one motion, as his other hand reached forward again to grab yet another handful of clanky metal coins. The audience follows the upwards motion of the coins into the air, where they apparently turns into shiny particulate, a form of glitter which lazily floated down from suspension in the air to dissolve harmlessly into the crowd of onlookers.

The jester, having completed his final magical act, tumbled backwards into a handstand, then again to remain standing in the centre of the onlookers. His hands shot out to press against the air, resulting in a victorious pose, awaiting the arrival of a well deserved round of applause.

Instead, the grim crowd only smiled.

A greater victory than the jester could imagine.

In a crowded and apprehensive courtroom, several bays of onlookers gazed down into the circular area spread before them. The room was a large one, edged with various doorways, corridors and benches for the audience members. Most of these such benches were full. In the centre of the room lay multiple tables and chairs, arranged neatly to form two columns, predictably for the prosecution and the defence of a given party or individual. The heavy stone benches lining the room were neatly arranged around the arena, and held a scattered yet great deal of paper, books, and writing instruments.
The gladiators fighting here were the of the political background, being lawyers wielding pencils instead of soldiers and swords. The gathering in the arena were busy, hustling too and fro between benches, where they sagely inspected a handful of documents, before hastening off to another bench to inspect similar looking documents. Some dwarves were grouped around tables and each other, having muffled yet heated conversations, evident from their easily readable body languages.

A large horn broke the quiet tension, before a regal-looking dwarf came forward from one of the doorways that lined the walls. This dwarf was the judge, as all knew, and the main spectacle of this event. Legal proceedings ran a little differently on Bloodybees compared to elsewhere in the world, and it is this difference which never fails to draw a crowd.
A stern looking couple dwarves stepped forward from another such opening, dragging a reluctant dwarf between them. The two guards resisted the struggle easily, having dealt with much rougher and more challenging prisoners before. Their demeanour was calm as they led her to her heavy granite seat at the front on the room, before the judge, and effortlessly shacked her ankle chains to the floor under the table. The prisoner stared down the judge, a big barrel-chested bald dwarf who had dealt with many of this situations before.

The prisoner's name was Calliv, who remained a former echo of her old warrior self. She had been leading a small group of rebellion forces for several weeks, after the previous leader disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Her small band of warriors had been traversing light trough the outer edges of cities in Bloodybees, carrying only the instruments of sabotage and guerrilla warfare, as well as basic survival rations.
Their self-assigned duty was to assess each town they encountered, in disguise and the cover of darkness, to determine whether each settlement was friend or foe. Then, once the necessary allegiance was formed, they would move on. If the town was found to not be so kind to those who opposed the tyrannical rule of Queen Hallow, the necessary and top secret actions were enacted. It was a simply strategy, one that had been used on several occasion before under previous ruler, King Calan. However, now with a new queen and a new crack down on the dwarves of Bloodybees' freedoms and rights, rebellions had been cropping up increasingly often. Such an idea was what explained Calliv's crew.

In an unforeseen but predictable move, one eventual town held a large force of disguised guards and military in disguise. Once the vengeful rebellion had shown themselves, the battle which followed was swift and conclusive, and not in Calliv's favour. Great casualties had been taken on both sides, and despite a solid effort from the rebels, they had fallen, just like many others before them. Calliv and her close compatriots fought bitterly, with teeth and nails, down to the very end. Calliv's very own husband perished at the hand of the military leader who had defeated her. It was this erasure of life which drew the life out of this crew, and so they surrendered.

Regardless, even with the prisoners taken, a court hearing had to be enacted for all crimes of this scale. And so it became how Calliv ended up back in the heart of Zugob Tun, in the centre of Bloodybees, back at the hand of the monarchy she despised.

The snap of the judge's gavel on hard marble brought her reminiscent mind back to reality.

To be continued

Since quarantine is edging on, I figured I'd be able to generate some stories in my own time.
I always did like this region better when it was quiet, because it was more manageable for me.
It's pretty sad to see it in this state, but also interesting, because it's a blank slate.

Like the aboriginal flag I got for a few puppets got them put in some default flag collections and just doesn't seem right.

Like the aboriginal flag I got for a few puppets got them put in some default flag collections and just doesn't seem right.

Wrinkled skin, coarse and dry like paper, held up a slowly ticking ring of metal. It was pointing towards eight yet the sun was still bright and young, the old eyes looked on it and bluffed. ‘Useless old watch’ he thought before he closed its metal cover.

Today he’d spend his time in the garden, overlooking his wife’s old roses next to his little oak on the countryside dales. It was a ‘good a summers day as ever‘ he said to himself as the oncoming breeze passed him. Somehow he finally recollected of days long gone by, with whatever wrinkled smile he could pull on his face. He thought of clever rhymes he’d tell his friends, his mothers sweet baking and those wonderful nights slept with the love he never had. He thought of the bad, the mud and the blaming ‘what if’s’. There was no use in that, once the nightly winds began to set in as he made his way home, he just let it go through. For the first and last time in his short human life he lived, it wasn’t an acceptance but a simple nodding acknowledgment of truth. He didn’t know that such freedom was a thing, he was happy for finally not holding on.

Though his little & very brief time stopped, he had one final door to take - one final journey to embark.

In a crowded and apprehensive courtroom, several bays of onlookers gazed down into the circular area spread before them. The room was a large one, edged with various doorways, corridors and benches for the audience members. Most of these such benches were full. In the centre of the room lay multiple tables and chairs, arranged neatly to form two columns, predictably for the prosecution and the defence of a given party or individual. The heavy stone benches lining the room were neatly arranged around the arena, and held a scattered yet great deal of paper, books, and writing instruments.
The gladiators fighting here were the of the political background, being lawyers wielding pencils instead of soldiers and swords. The gathering in the arena were busy, hustling too and fro between benches, where they sagely inspected a handful of documents, before hastening off to another bench to inspect similar looking documents. Some dwarves were grouped around tables and each other, having muffled yet heated conversations, evident from their easily readable body languages.

A large horn broke the quiet tension, before a regal-looking dwarf came forward from one of the doorways that lined the walls. This dwarf was the judge, as all knew, and the main spectacle of this event. Legal proceedings ran a little differently on Bloodybees compared to elsewhere in the world, and it is this difference which never fails to draw a crowd.
A stern looking couple dwarves stepped forward from another such opening, dragging a reluctant dwarf between them. The two guards resisted the struggle easily, having dealt with much rougher and more challenging prisoners before. Their demeanour was calm as they led her to her heavy granite seat at the front on the room, before the judge, and effortlessly shacked her ankle chains to the floor under the table. The prisoner stared down the judge, a big barrel-chested bald dwarf who had dealt with many of this situations before.

The prisoner's name was Calliv, who remained a former echo of her old warrior self. She had been leading a small group of rebellion forces for several weeks, after the previous leader disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Her small band of warriors had been traversing light trough the outer edges of cities in Bloodybees, carrying only the instruments of sabotage and guerrilla warfare, as well as basic survival rations.
Their self-assigned duty was to assess each town they encountered, in disguise and the cover of darkness, to determine whether each settlement was friend or foe. Then, once the necessary allegiance was formed, they would move on. If the town was found to not be so kind to those who opposed the tyrannical rule of Queen Hallow, the necessary and top secret actions were enacted. It was a simply strategy, one that had been used on several occasion before under previous ruler, King Calan. However, now with a new queen and a new crack down on the dwarves of Bloodybees' freedoms and rights, rebellions had been cropping up increasingly often. Such an idea was what explained Calliv's crew.

In an unforeseen but predictable move, one eventual town held a large force of disguised guards and military in disguise. Once the vengeful rebellion had shown themselves, the battle which followed was swift and conclusive, and not in Calliv's favour. Great casualties had been taken on both sides, and despite a solid effort from the rebels, they had fallen, just like many others before them. Calliv and her close compatriots fought bitterly, with teeth and nails, down to the very end. Calliv's very own husband perished at the hand of the military leader who had defeated her. It was this erasure of life which drew the life out of this crew, and so they surrendered.

Regardless, even with the prisoners taken, a court hearing had to be enacted for all crimes of this scale. And so it became how Calliv ended up back in the heart of Zugob Tun, in the centre of Bloodybees, back at the hand of the monarchy she despised.

The snap of the judge's gavel on hard marble brought her reminiscent mind back to reality.

To be continued