Gathered in a shabby run-down home, result of the previous attacks from the Magic Supremacy group know as Ordo, were characters of different make, model, creed, gender, region. They sat on a crudely made table, broken chairs, wobbly legs. Nightfall it was, warm gusts of air blew into their windowless shack. A Poet, Farmer, Baker, Outlaw, Fisherman, and the Smith and a priest; all gathered here for one of many purposes. They had been meeting ever since the year prior, in their own sectors of Misthalin holding sway or at least enough favor among their neighbors: the common man and woman. None of them held political power whatsoever, and lived modest lives. Enough to earn themselves an understanding of education, literature through purchasing texts, books of fiction, Church books perhaps being the most predominant in all their readings. They are free thinkers, men and women of intellect, wisdom, charisma and proficient in the common vernacular. This group had no name, they were a coalition of friends, not a cult, a gang, well except for the Outlaw, she was a gang member by trade. And this was where it all began. Tonight though was unlike most of their nights. Previous days had been met with talks of separation, revolution, leaving. The Kingdom of Misthalin held no place for the common man anymore. Complacency within the Royal Palace and her vassals spread into their cities created a vacuum for true leadership. There discussions had been fierce, the Outlaw had stormed off, she had no need to create a better world, in her eyes a stagnant government was easier to rob or knock off its banks to the very least. The Farmer had no other choice, his farm was about to foreclosed upon, the tax collectors had come to collect, his family would soon have to move. The Baker couldn't buy more wheat for cheap, the Farmer had no wheat to plant nor sell, The Fisherman had no bait to cast into the waters; his favorite bait was leaving worms bloated with bread.--
14-Jul-2018 00:44:51