Welcome Guest 

Register

Forum Home » Roleplaying » Non-Tolkien » *A Patriot's Calling* (See OOC to join!)
Author Topic:
Vanimacar
Council Member
Posts: 219
Send Message
Avatar
Post *A Patriot's Calling* (See OOC to join!)
on: April 24, 2004 11:38
In 1763, the lengthy French and Indian War ended. England controlled Canada and all the territory between the Appalachian Mountains and the Mississippi River. In many ways, the men who lived on and fought for this land had stronger ties to it and to each other than to Britain. The hardy settlers formed Great Britain's 13 colonies in the New World. After years of warfare, they reclaim their ordinary lives in the burgeoning cities and countryside.
But the cost of Pax Britannia is high and the young colonies were not willing to pay the price. A series of taxes were demanded: the Currency, Sugar, Stamp and Quartering Acts come in rapid succession; the draconian "Intolerable Acts" follow. The colonists strenuously object to the notion of "taxation without representation" and the threat to their rights of self-government. The Boston Harbor becomes a vat of tea. Another conflict, this time with England, is inevitable.
___________________***___________________

October 9, 1775 Charleston, SC
((Paul Revear's ride to Lexington was on the night of April 18, 1775))

In her upstairs bedroom, Margaret Ann Foster stood gazing at her reflexion in a full length mirror. It was Margaret's sixteenth birthday and she wore a fabulous gown of China blue silk and white lace. The dress was a gift from her father, who'd brought all the way across the ocean from London. Margaret's dark blonde hair was tied back with silk ribbon and embroidered dance slippers graced her feet. Margaret couldn't surpress the bright smile that played on her lips any more than she could dismiss the butterflies that assailed her. Flashing one last grin at her reflexion, she spun gracefully on her heels and and left the room.
Pausing at the top of the stairs, Margaret placed a trembling hand on the banister, bracing herself for her grand entrance.
It's surprising how taking one step can feel like stepping off a cliff...
Summoning up her wits, 16-year-old Margaret Foster took the plunge. Her slow, deliberately graceful steps brought her closer to the glittering fanfare below her, the largest ball Winston Street had ever seen.
Life had changed little for the Foster family since the colonial uprising in April. Lexington, Massachusetts was along way from the Foster's sprawling Carolina estate. And being one of the wealthiest families in the Carolinas kept away the hardship as well. The impossible taxes had little affect on Bejamin Foster's household.
Since his wife had died in childbirth half a decade earlier, Benjamin Foster had used his clout as a wealthy merchant to shower lavish gifts on his beloved children, indulging their every whim and desire, though he himself was rarely home.
That's what made this night so special for Margaret. Not only had her father's gift arrived in time for her birthday, but he was here as well.
Margaret had reached the richly carpeted landing and was now in full sight of all her admiring guests. Pausing their she smiled graciously and decended to greet her father who stood beaming at the foot of the stair.
After enduring a hundred polite salutations and 3 toasts, Margaret was rewarded by the start of beautiful music and with that, the dance.
The first dance with her father seemed to last forever, but served to calm the girl's nerves. When the music faded, chatter-filled gossip ensued and Margaret was left standing alone. She stood patiently, watching her guests until the insistant tone of someone clearing their throat brought her back to the present. She turned to see David Wingate gazing at her. Their was nothing Margaret could do to hide her delight the moment she saw him. Her smile grew brighter as did her eyes, though her breath seemed stollen away. The handsome young man grinned sheepishly back at her, his impossibly blue eyes alight with rapture. He was impecably dressed in a deep blue waist coat with gold buttons, a whaite lace collar at his throat. "May I have the honor of this dance, Miss Foster?" he asked, extending his hand. For a moment Margaret made no anser, too lost in his gaze to say anything. After a long moment she managed a "Why certainly" and they glided hand-in-hand to the center of the room. Upon arrival, the couple faced eachother and David placed his hand gently around Margaret's waist. Color flushed her cheeks at his touch and even more with the man's delighted smile that followed. Taking her other hand, David lead her gently into the dance and it took only moments for Margaret to become lost in reverie. As they glided gracefully among the other couples, Margaret gazed into his sapphire eyes and wished the the song would last forever.
Margaret never noticed her father leave the room as she and David floated across the marble ballroom. She never imagined how different her life would be before sunrise...

((Feel free to join any time. I'm setting up for the British to kill Margaret's father (see her profile) and I don't mind if you run with that))
falather
Council Member
Posts: 579
Send Message
Avatar
Post RE: *A Patriot's Calling* (See OOC to join!)
on: April 24, 2004 04:33
(((Sounds good to me! Will's in the database, if you want to see his profile. I have another character in the works, but I've still got a few details to rough out... )))

October 9, 1775
Just outside of Boston, Massachusetts

William Amboy took a deep breath of brisk morning air. Ahh...it's good just to be alive, he thought, stretching before he dressed. Mentally, he went over what needed to be done for the day. Dapper needs to be exercised, and the stables need cleaning...he mused, buttoning his shirt. Perhaps...if I hurry, I might have time to go into the city this afternoon. I would dearly love to- I haven't been able to in so long. But with all the work Father has to take on to be able to keep the farm...one must do without sometimes.

He tied his hair back messily and left the house, cringing as the door slammed behind him. He always forgot to close it gently, and the cracked lower pane of glass was a direct result of his handiwork. Shrugging it off, he made his way out to the stable and began his morning routine. The horses stuck their heads out over their stall doors when they heard his footsteps and nickered. "Morning, all," Will called out, cutting the ties on a bale of hay and distributing chunks of it to the various animals. He stopped and went into Caesar's-his father's horse- stall, lifting the animal's front left foot. Caesar had stepped on a stone the other day and had been favoring that hoof at first, but a quick inspection revealed that the small wound had healed perfectly. Will breathed a sigh of relief- the last thing they needed was another problem, what with all that had happened lately. The big grey horse stared at him lazily as if to ask what all the fuss was about, and then returned to his breakfast.

Will could hear the sound of his father hammering away at the anvil, and men chatting in the distance. Customers already? They give him no rest...And every time one of their animal throws a shoe they are back here demanding it be fixed for free. As if it's our fault they ride their horses too hard on the streets. he thought, shaking his head. And what with the new taxes and all, it makes it hard to get by. I wonder why Parliament seems to have it out for us all of the sudden? I can see why there are some who are getting desperate.
Vanimacar
Council Member
Posts: 219
Send Message
Avatar
Post RE: *A Patriot's Calling* (See OOC to join!)
on: April 25, 2004 01:09
Foster Estate, Charleston, SC ((later that same night))

In the front parlor of his home, Benjamin Foster was greeted by four British soldiers, two toting rifles afixed with bayonets. Benjamin's servant, a young negro named Thomas, stood figetting nervously beside the visitors. "They asked for you, sir." he said with a slight tremor in his voice.
"Yes, thank you, Thomas. You may go now." said Foster. With that, Tom ducked out of the room leaving Benjamin Foster alone with the English officers.
"What can I do for you gentlemen?" he asked, trying to sound as friendly and compliant as possible.
"Here, sir" said the oldest looking of the four soldiers, "we have the warrant for your arrest. You have been charged with treason against your king. Have you anything to say for yourself?"
Benjamin was speachless. They knew. The British authorities found out about his under the table dealings, about his cheating the system and scurting around the taxes. But how?
Recovering his composure, he decided to plead innocent.
"I don't know what you're talking about." he blurted, perhaps a bit too fervently.
"The tea, sir, that you sold without compliance to the proper taxes, and the weapons you supplied to the rebel militia. We have proof."
Benjamin listened stone faced and silent. After a pause, the man in charge motioned to his cronies, who stepped forward and seized Benjamin by the arm.
"Get your hands off me!" he spat, "This is absurd! What about a trial?!"
"Oh, you'll get a trial old man, and when we prove you guilty, you'll hang." With that last emphatic statement, they dragged Foster away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The waltz finally ended, and Margaret and David parted with a deep bow. Margaret wove through the crowd, looking for a familiar face. She found her younger brother, Ben sitting in a chair by the wall, stuffing his face with sweets. "Benjamin! You stop that!'
"Why?" the boy retorted, speaking around a mouth full of pastry. "I saw you dancing with that Wingy boy."
"Wingate. His name is David Wingate."
"Oooh!" said her little brother in a taunting voice.
"Would stop being such a child!" she said crossly. "Where's papa?"
"He left, but you too busy staring at that boy to notice."
Margaret scowled, and dashed off, weaving her way through the crowd, out of the ballroom and into the grand hallway in the middle of the house. She fairly flew down down the hall, glancing at each room she passed, hoping to see her father inside. When she didn't find him, she decided to look out side.
Margaret stepped over the threshold and on to the front porch. She peered out into the front yard, squinting to decern the dark figures that were milling about in the shadows of the oaks. The figures materialized just in time to see a British soldier fire his rifle point blank at the figure in front of him. The unfortunate soul fell like a stone. There was nothing Margaret could do to supress the horrified scream that leapt from her throat as she saw his father's lifeless figure in the glow of the brightly colored paper lanterns strung between the oak's giant limbs. She kept screaming, her eyes seeing nothing but horror, blinded by tears, until one of the other soldiers tackled her to the ground, clapping a hand forcefully over her mouth. Seconds later she was unconsious.
falather
Council Member
Posts: 579
Send Message
Avatar
Post RE: *A Patriot's Calling* (See OOC to join!)
on: April 25, 2004 02:42
The afternoon of October 9, 1775
The city of Boston

William wiped the sweat off his forehead and sighed. There. Everything taken care of, everything in its place...and still plenty of daylight left, he thought, satisfied with the progress he had made. He put the pitchfork away and took out Dapper's saddle, a worn, tired-looking thing, but still quite servicable.

He hummed to himself as he groomed his horse and saddled her up for the ride, a tune that he thought sounded vaguely familiar, but he could not quite place. "Ready to go, then?" he asked the placid bay horse. She blinked at him and made a whiff-ing noise with her nose, reaching up to tossle Will's hair. "I shall take that as a yes."

He led Dapper out into the afternoon sunshine and made his way over to the forge, where his father stood over a hot anvil, banging away on a new horseshoe. "I'm going to go into town," he said loudly, trying to catch the man's attention over the clanging noise of the hammer. His father looked up and momentarily stopped his work. "You have someone to meet?" he said lightly, gazing directly into his son's eyes. "No, I just wanted to see what was going on with..." Will's voice trailed off awkwardly here. With the soldiers.

"You be careful, and for Heaven's sake don't get into any trouble," his father said, apparently satisfied enough with Will's less-than-complete answer. "I will be," Will replied, mounting Dapper and urging her into a swift trot.
_______________
The ride into Boston did not take long by horse- ten minutes, at most. The road ran pleasantly under several rows of maple trees, their leaves just beginning to blush with autumn's colors. By the time Will got into town, he felt thouroughly refreshed by the ride and ready to see something.

He made his way through the crowded streets and into the heart of the city towards his usual haunt: a bookstore owned by a friend of his, a man named John Dorl. Will could see the horses of a few of his friends outside, and he quickly tied Dapper's reins and entered the store.

"Will! We were beginning to think you were dead! So what brings you down this dark alleyway?" a black-haired man of about twenty said as William entered the store. "Not dead yet, but getting there," Will replied, laughing. "And how are you, Aaron? Have you been thrown out of any taverns lately?"

"Not at all, my friend. I have been quite well-behaved thus far, and I intend to say that way. No use stirring up trouble with all these Lobster-backs running around," Aaron said, inviting Will to sit down at a table that Dorl had set out in the front of the store for customers to read at. They had a wonderful view out the window, and could watch all the passers-by as they talked.

"He says that, but watch: within a week he'll be in the stockaides. You know as well as I he cannot keep his mouth shut," John Dorl said, appearing out of the back room.

"Not true!" Aaron began to reply, but Will's mind had already been taken elsewhere. He stared out the window at a shorter man in a red vest who was hurrying about the streets, a lively expression on his face. Now what is this? he thought, watching as the man casually dropped a handful of pamphlets onto a porch and disappeared in the crowds. He squinted, could just barely read a heading on the top of the stack: King George Orders More Troops into Boston, it read. Within a few moments, the bundle of pamphlets were seized by three British soldiers. As they turned to leave with their prize, one of them turned and looked directly into the bookstore, catching Will's eye. He shuddered, and turned quickly away.
Members Online
Print Friendly, PDF & Email