Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-7262318-20170119203012/@comment-5543592-20170125195307

(Since Markos isn’t talkative, I thought I’d expand a little on his backstory on my own)

3 months ago, in a small village south of Bruma…

The townsfolk assembled in chapel of Kyne’s Folly. Not because they were a religious sort, but because it was the building best suited to holding town meetings. The pews were filled with Nords, so many that one might think they were in Skyrim. Kyne’s Folly, however, was simply a village near Bruma, and took the overflow of immigrants from the north. Most every man in the room had served time in the Legion to get his citizenship, and near every child of Kyne’s Folly had been born in Cyrodiil.

Mayor Titus Rolfson held the podium now, cleared his throat, and spoke aloud.

“Gentleman,” he began, as only men attended this meeting, “I am here to broach the uncomfortable subject that has been on all our minds. I have heard the gossip and been told of many worries and been asked many questions in confidence, so I will say aloud what most of you already know. We have recently come under the control of the Jorane Rebellion. The men of Goryn Mortis have demanded payments of grain and produce in exchange for not taking it by force. I, as the mayor, agreed to the deal, and paid the first share of tribute.”   He paused a moment, before adding. “Without consulting the village council.”

That final sentence caused some murmurs among the crowd. It was unlike the mayor to overstep his bounds. He had been popularly and almost unanimously elected by the village fifteen years ago and had remained unchallenged and in office since. One reason for his success was that he worked closely with the village council, a group of men who advised the mayor and protected the people’s instance. To accept this deal was a breach of conduct that was irreconcilable with who Mayor Titus was.

“What does that mean, father?” Hjalti asked, looking over at his father. “That he didn’t consult with the council.”

“It means he made a mistake.”   Markos replied.

“Are they going to kick him out of being mayor?”   Hjalti asked, wording his question poorly.

“I doubt it.”   Markos said. “But he’s damaged their faith in him. Which is going to make what comes next harder.”

“What comes next?”

“Deciding what to do. Surrendering one’s autonomy is a hard thing. Not everyone is going to want to have to pay a tribute to the Rebellion. The village will want to leave it up to the council, who won’t confer with the mayor.”

“But the council won’t want to take the blame if they make the wrong call. And the mayor’s off free anyway. Either he made the right choice, or the town will forget he did wrong if the council messes up worse.”

Markos looked over at his son and smiled. “Exactly.”   Hjalti, at nineteen years old, was inch or two taller than his father, and Markos was a not a short man. He lacked his father’s breadth of shoulder, having not quite lost the skinniness of youth, but was covered in scrappy muscle from working long hours on the farm. He was a handsome lad, with incredibly fair hair and an angular jaw set in a hawkish face. Coupled with that, he was charming, and from what Markos could gather, was a hit with the girls of the village. Markos’ wife would joke that someone else must’ve been Hjalti’s father, because he certainly didn’t get such qualities from Markos.

“Why would the mayor do that?”

“He didn’t do it on purpose. Titus is an honest man. Too honest. He likely couldn’t’ve have refused whoever the Rebellion sent knowing it would put the village in danger, and he was morally unable to lie to the man. I doubt they even gave him the chance to call the council, they probably pressured him into it.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“So what’s the council going to do?”   Hjalti asked, taking advantage of the fact that his father was indeed on said village council.

<p class="MsoNormal">Markos was silent for a moment, considering, and turned his attention back to the mayor. “I’m going to advise against giving any more tribute.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Hjalti blinked, surprised. “Why?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Because I didn’t join the Legion, fight a war against my own countrymen, and move to a new land just to give half of what I grow to some upstart. I owe loyalty to the Empire, it’s done good by me, and I swore an oath to serve and protect it. That doesn’t change because I’m a soft old man now.”

<p class="MsoNormal">With Markos looked back at Hjalti, the boy’s eyes were shimmering in admiration. That was perhaps Markos’ biggest, personal pride. He knew from how his boy looked at him that he was a good father.

<p class="MsoNormal">The mayor began to wave for silence and called for the village council to rise and join him. Markos stood, exited the pew, and made his way to the front of the room, to confer with the mayor and other three council members.

<p class="MsoNormal">“You should’ve conferred with us first.”   Said Erik Hagnison, a short, rotund man who ran a successful pig farm to the south. “You going it alone reflects badly on all of us.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“That wasn’t my intention.”   Titus said, indeed looking rather distressed by having disappointed so many people. “I only did what I thought was best for the village at the time.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“But you regret it now.”   Finished Joh Akeson, the village blacksmith, folding his arms across his chest, underneath a long soot-stained beard. He wore his apron even now, and the shirt underneath was stretched tight against his muscular build.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t regret it.”   Titus said. “I just believe the council deserves a say in the next step we take.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Asmund Einarrson, the broad-shouldered foreman of the grainary, frowned at Titus, which wrinkled the vicious scar that ran across his jaw. He shared a glance with Markos.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I think a few of us are already in agreement on the next step to take.”   Asmund said aloud.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Oh?”   Erik said, raising a brow. “And what’s that? Cue me in.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“We refuse to pay tribute.”   Asmund said, to which Joh and Markos both nodded.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Preposterous.”   Erik grumbled. “Do you want to see the town burned down?”   He raised the volume of those last two words, exciting the crowd a bit. Some women had funneled in at this point, likely told by the Women’s Circle that they shouldn’t be excluded from this meeting, and the higher population of the room made the various gasps seem louder. Nearly the whole village had been packed into the chapel at this point. Markos glanced over his shoulder, into the crowd, and was proud to see that Hjalti had found his mother and was standing by her. Freydis noticed his stare and gave him a small wave. Markos’ smile was small as he turned back to the council’s continuing discussion.

<p class="MsoNormal">“They’d find it a hard fight to take Kyne’s Folly.”   Asmund said, to which Joh echoed his assent. “We’re all Legionnaires here. Experienced veterans. They’d get bored with us, and try somewhere else.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Do you not pay attention to the news that the peddlers bring through?”   Erik exclaimed. “These men eat Legionnaires for breakfast. And not all of us, mind you, fought on the frontlines. Some of us ran the more technical side of things.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“You don’t need to remind us.”   Joh remarked, with a glance to Erik’s belly.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Not everyone can afford to pay the tribute.”   Markos finally said, adding his voice to the discussion. “Just because you can, Erik, doesn’t mean others should be forced to.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I hope you don’t mean yourself, Seven-Fingers. I have it on good accounts that your harvests for the last three seasons have been profitable.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m not speaking for myself.”   Markos said. “I’m speaking for the people, which is what this council stands for. If we go under the Joranes’ thumb we’ll never come out from it. I’d rather take a fight for what I stand for then surrender quietly.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Erik opened his mouth to argue some more, but the wind seemed to go out of him. “Going to get us all killed you will.”   Was all he grumbled.

<p class="MsoNormal">Titus, who had remained silent for the duration of the meeting, nodded Markos his assent. Markos turned from the four of them, and stepped up to the podium.

<p class="MsoNormal">“The council has reached a decision.”   He declared in a loud voice, silencing the room. “We’ve decided to withhold tribute from the rebellion. Next time they come to collect, all they’re receive is a swift kick between the legs.”   There were a few cheers and some laughs at Markos’ remark, which he followed up with. “Kyne’s Folly bows to no rebellion.”   Markos declared, jabbing the podium with his index finger. “It was founded on the principles of the Empire, and it will live by them. There can be no half measures.”   The audience responded with widespread clapping, a few villagers even stood. Markos’ allowed himself a reluctant smile.

<p class="MsoNormal">The applause subsided, slowly, until there was only one person still clapping.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Very good speech.”   A man said, rising from the audience, letting off a few more slow claps. He had been sitting on the edge of a pew on a far side of the room, and stepped out into the aisle. He was much shorter than anyone else in the room which was because, Markos realized, he was an Imperial man of average height.

<p class="MsoNormal">“It was impressive.”   He began to slowly pace down the aisle, towards the front of the room. He wore a complete nobleman’s suit, made out of some kind of silk, and dressed all in black, complete with a tail coat and neck ruff.

<p class="MsoNormal">“But in vain. You see, in three days, when Lord Mortis’ men come for another visit, there’s going to be a wagon stock full of grain and produce waiting for them. Because if there isn’t, you’re not just one village we’re going to forget about. You’ll be an example. And Goryn Mortis loves to make examples. So that next time, when another village thinks about steping out of line, they’ll say ‘we’d better not. Remember what happened at Kyne’s Folly. Remember how the woman were ravaged and the children were spit on stakes. Remember how Goryn Mortis burned the village down to it’s soil and salted the ashes.’   And they’ll pick up their rakes and their hoes, and go back to their proper places.”   He’d stopped short of the podium and was staring up at Markos. “Do you want to be an example?”  He asked softly.

<p class="MsoNormal">The chapel was stunned into silence. No one moved, no one spoke. The man challenged Markos with his eyes. He was testing Markos' backbone. He expected an easily cowed farmer, but no one at Kyne's Folly went quietly. Markos broke the silence. “I’d have to be dead first.”

<p class="MsoNormal">The man laughed, the real, full-bodied laugh of someone who was genuinely amused. “You? You’re a nobody. You’re a plebian in the back end of the world. Just who do you think you are?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I’m the man who’s going to kill you.”   Markos informed him.

<p class="MsoNormal">The well-dressed man only smirked. “Oh-ho, you’re making a serious mistake, pal.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“You’re making one by staying.”   Markos said, stepping around from the podium. He pushed back his cloak, and set his hand on the hilt of his war axe.

<p class="MsoNormal">The suited man eyed the weapon, and licked his lips. “Three days.”   He said. “The wagon better be sitting in plain sight ready for the men to grab. Or there’ll be a reckoning.”

<p class="MsoNormal">He turned around, the tails of his coat flapping, and strode out of the inn. The silence persisted long after he was gone.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Are you out of your mind?”   Asmund demanded, seizing Markos’ arm. Markos had been staring at the shut door.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Probably.”   He muttered. “But if we’re going to stand up to them, we might as well make an impression.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“It was impressionable.”   Joh agreed.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Quite the performance.”   Erik said dryly. “But we didn’t need to anger the Rebellion’s representative.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I said there could be no half measures.”   Markos said, and then repeated in a louder, authoritarian voice. “And there won’t be any half measures!”   He turned to the crowd, figuring his confidant handling of the representative had already been half of the performance he needed to put on. “Return to your homes. But do it knowing that you’re free men and women. And we can’t let anyone take that away from us.”

<p class="MsoNormal">The crowd that left the chapel was enthused and full of energy. Freydis and Hjalti joined Markos at the front of the chapel.

<p class="MsoNormal">Hjalti’s face was split wide in a smile, but Freydis looked more reserved.

<p class="MsoNormal">“That was something.”   Hjalti said. “When you said you were going to kill that man, I really thought you meant it.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Markos snorted.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Are you sure that was wise, Markos?”   Freydis asked, her brow folded pensively. She had a heart-shaped face and hair that had grayed far too earlier, the result of stressing over a willful teenage boy, done back in a long ponytail. Crow’s feet fanned out around large blue eyes that had captivated Markos when he’d been a young man.

<p class="MsoNormal">“No. But it’s what this town needs. Everyone thinking they’re sheepherders and defenseless farmers. "

<p class="MsoNormal">"They are sheepherders, dear.  So are you." She smartly reminded him.

<p class="MsoNormal">"But Kyne’s Folly was founded as more than that." Markos said loyally. " It was time they remembered it.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Freydis frowned in consideration, before giving him a small smile. “Well, it was very brave of you…”   She conceded, sidling up to Markos and taking hold of his arm.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Hmtp. I suppose it was.”   The old Nord grunted, escorting her to the door. Hjalti hung back, likely trying to get away while he parents were distracted by each other.

<p class="MsoNormal">“C’mon boy.”   Markos beckoned. “I still have that firewood for you to haul.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Hjalti’s groan followed them out towards their horse-drawn cart as the family because the trek back to their farm.