Welcome to 'Pike and Shot', a low fantasy RP set in a low fantasy world similar to our own. In this RP you will play the part of an escaped prisoner who had been being shipped to the slave markets in a town called 'Inbur'. Maybe, in time you will find your way home, or perhaps you and your new companions might end up changing the fate of the world for the better...
This is a low fantasy RP. Magic does exist in the setting, though your characters are not magically gifted. The one exception I will make to this is if you want to make your character a healer, because magical healing is a great way to allow injured characters to participate in the next scene.
In terms of non-magical tech and societal development, the part of the world you are in will have tech approximately equivalent to the mid 16th century.
The peoples described in the OP are Eurpoean/Mediterranean types, though if you want to create a character from further afield, definitely feel free. Join the Discord and we can do a bit of world building!
The societies in the world are early-modern and female characters won't have been in the military, though this is also a pretty brutal world and it is completely logical to assume that female characters have been taught how to defend themselves with guns, swords and knives, regardless of whether they are peasants or nobles.
This RP will be open to latecomers. There is always scope for the group to meet someone new along the road.
The Cartographer's best efforts at a map
You can view a map of the world by clicking on this link
Road, West of the Morktree, North-West of the city of Inbur
Vassos Costaou & Andronika Hasikos
It was a grim day, the sky an ominous grey colour that promised rain to come, though so far only the odd sullen drop had fallen on the column that wound its way towards Inbur. The merchant rode the cart that carried the supplies, his stock of prisoners, bound for the markets in that city trudged along behind. All except the young Inburian woman with the talent for healing. She had been thrown in the back of the wagon after initially moving too slowly. She was valuable to the merchant, though Vassos wasn't entirely clear why. Others would have been beaten until they either moved faster or stopped moving altogether.
The merchant had stopped the column, stepping off the side of the road to relieve himself in the bushes and Vassos had taken the opportunity to pull his horse in next to the cart to talk with her again. None of the other guards found it odd - they thought he was trying to sleep with her. Had he been younger, maybe he would have. The merchant was the only one who minded, keeping an eye on Vassos whenever he was near his prized possession, "I'm not sure about this," she muttered, keeping her voice low enough that it wouldn't carry to the other guards, "I know some of these people are probably perfectly good folk, but some of them will have done awful things to end up here."
Vassos didn't blame her for her nervousness. She was from a nice family and had enjoyed a degree of privilege granted by her name. She wasn't used to rubbing shoulders with mercenaries and criminals, "It's simple maths," he growled, keeping his voice similarly low, "Aside from me, there are three owned men, the Captain and two others. You can ignore the merchant, he's no fighter, but he has two guards as well. If I attack, I'll go for the Captain first, try to take him off the table, but then they're reacting to me and there's four of them. The odds of me winning under those circumstances is close to zero. This is also your best opportunity to get out. Realistically, we need to make our move before we get to the city and before we're near a village where some of the locals might decide to help the guards."
She nodded, grimacing, "Okay," she was young and inexperienced, but Andronika wasn't stupid. She could see the logic and understood it, "I'll do what you need me to do."
From the corner of his eye, Vassos caught sight of the merchant emerging from the bushes. He was Elgafolk, which didn't bother Vassos. Vassos was property of the Emperor, but he understood the Elgafolk. They were born fighters who had conquered their neighbours and kept the lands of the West safe from the Blight for many human generations. Yes, they could be cruel and arrogant, but in his mind, they had earned that right. The merchant smelled of perfume and wore boots that were far too fine for cross country travel. He wore spectacles and a small sword at his waist - a deadly weapon sure, but better suited for gentlemanly duelling than the dirty work of the battlefield. Vassos did not like the merchant, "He's coming. Are you ready?"
Andronika took a deep breath, then nodded, determination and a deep smouldering anger in her dark brown eyes.
"Good," he grunted, "Remember, go for the big muscly ones, they're probably going to be better and beating a man senseless without a weapon." He leaned across, pressing the key to the manacles that bound all the prisoners into the palm of her hand.
Andronika Hasikos, Vassos Costaou, Hakon Torstensso, Alberic Thorel & Loan Klodig
Cowritten by Dyelli Beybi, Europa Undivided, Arengin Union & Intermountain States
“Get your hands off me!” the young woman who had been travelling by carriage seemed to have taken offence at something that one of the Owned Men had done. The particularly large looking one. Despite the manacles she was wearing, she struggled down to the end of the cart, past several sacks of supplies, dropping off the tail board as the merchant doubled his pace towards the pair, fine boots squelching in the mud of the trail.
“I told you not to touch that one!” he spat at the Owned Man, “She’s worth money! More than you are!” He didn’t explain why though.
The Owned Man raised gloved hands defensively, clucking at his horse as he turned it away from the wagon. The merchant stood glaring at him as he retreated, before hauling himself up to his seat driving the cart with a grunt of irritation, turning his back on the misbehaving slave-soldier.
The girl retreated, backwards, right into Hakon. She rounded, looking straight at him, though without any hint of surprise. She’d meant to walk into him, “Some kind of soldier right?” she asked, her voice low, slightly hurried, “I’m getting out of here with the big guy. You interested in getting free? You won’t get a better shot at this.” She glanced down at her hands where, between tucked neatly behind her wrist, she had the key to the manacles.
"I'm not really a soldier, but I was quite well trained," Hakon whispered back at the girl. He had always been planning his own manner of possible escape from the accursed fate of slavery; there was simply no way that prideful dwarves that claim descent from the greatest of the old kingdoms, like himself, would never accept a life of servitude to some knife eared... invader. "What is the plan... ah, I see."
Hakon looked down at the keys. "This is a good start."
The girl pressed her hands to his for a moment, palming the key across, as she whispered, "When we stop for the night the big guy will smoke a pipe. Then when he is done and puts it out, he will take out the Captain and get everyone else's attention. You need to get a few people unlocked from their manacles by then and then spring on the other guards and try to get them out off the board. Just go for the closest guard with his back turned and try to get a weapon. It's a rough plan, but we don't know where we'll stop or where people will be standing so it has to be."
"Understood," Hakon answered with a pensive nod as he took the key into his hand. "I will not fail." The dwarf looked over to the aforementioned 'big guy', who was, as described, quite the unit of measurement. He took note of the soldier; for what it seemed, he and the woman had conspired an escape together. Hakon didn't want to make an assumption about this man's motivations, since he would have been one of those children that get abducted by the Haltians and indoctrinated into loyal slave soldiers of the empire. Maybe he had a change of heart?
"All of you, get moving!" one of the Harquebusiers yelled, spurring his horse down the line, just about knocking Andronika from her feet in the process.
"You hold onto the key and when we stop try to quietly get a few people free before Vassos, the big guy, makes his move" she muttered when she was sure there were no guards in earshot. 'Vassos' had to be the big trooper, "I'll try to alert some of the others who look like fighters," she paused for a moment before adding, "If there's time pressure before we make our move, ignore me. I'm not going to be that much help... just please don't leave me when it's over."
"No, no, I wouldn't," Hakon answered assuringly. "My people don't leave each other when in trouble, nor do we abandon allies. Simply leaving you here to wander the land would bring shame to my ancestors. Oh, by Grungni's beard, I can already see them watching from Hala..." (edited)
"Don't worry," the girl smiled, "I trust you! We'll speak soon."
She then did a rather convincing fake stumble to allow herself to fall back a few steps, in line with some of the others behind.
Alberic had remained silent for most of the time ever since his capture, he had never experienced the shackles of capture that he had put on many others during his time and it was rather an ironic twist that he was under them now. He had come to notice the Halthian soldiers were of imposing stature with fancy plate armour and weaponry he had not seen in the seas. He had kept his tongue in check and his head down, so far. His long, now unkept hair covering his eyes and his beard had grown far too unruly for his liking. Nevertheless, he remained upright and unbowed, which probably made him seem a strong and healthy would-be slave. He'd studied some of the various, peculiar individuals, who were his fellow prisoners. There was a dwarf: an odd sighr. Certainly, he'd rarely seen them, the odd female, but never a male. A few elves stuck out as well, but one that drew Alberic's caution was a young blonde girl with pale skin and facial tattoos that marked her as Emiddleyan. He would have to be cautious, even among the prisoners; the Emmidleyans were as treacherous as they were pale and sickly looking.
The appearance of another girl disturbed his thoughts. She was sneaky, covertly approaching him right after doing the same with the dwarf. Alberic knew something was amiss and, perhaps, it would be to his benefit...
"Interested in getting your chains off?" the girl asked without turning to face Alberic.
Giving only a quick glance at the girl and keeping his otherwise stern expression, Alberic replied, "Very much so."
Loan, meanwhile was considering his methods of escape as he looked around his surroundings. The Haltian escorts, with their plate armour and armed with various weapons, would be difficult to take out on his own. His headache was now gone but all he has on him is his own gambeson. The Haltians must’ve stripped him of his breastplate. Such a shame though, he really liked that armour piece. The gambeson provided some moderate protection, but not against shot. There was no way he’s going to end up as a slave to those pointy eared bastards; he would have to escape. Not on the move though. He looked at the other prisoners with him which was when he caught what the girl was telling the Monchian. He leaned slightly towards them and overheard the girl’s plan. Perhaps there is a way out and they could be of assistance.
"Thought you might be," she replied to Alberic, but gave Loan a slight nod of the head to let him know she was definitely talking to him as well, "You see the big guard everyone thinks is trying to get into my skirts?" she nodded in the direction of the large harquebusier, "He's going to kick things off tonight when we make camp. He'll smoke a pipe and when he puts it out, that's the signal things are about to happen. Before that, make sure you get near our young skultmann. I gave him the keys," she gave a quick smile that seemed to say she was quite pleased with how things were working out so far, "The big guy will cause a commotion, you just need to use the moment to overpower some of the guards, possibly grab a gun. I'm not going to be too much use to you so if there's time constraints, don't worry about freeing me until the fighting is over... though if it all goes wrong, feel free to blame me for instigating!"
Alberic nodded, wait till the caravan made camp, big guy would smoke, commotion and action. The dwarf or skultman as known formally in these parts would have the keys to freedom. How she had procure them he had no idea, but he knew the plan to get these chains off and it was all he needed. He simply nodded.
Later that evening...
Vassos Costaou
As they made camp and evening fell the rain began to come down. It was definitely a problem when it came to smoking a pipe but would also mean the two caravan guards, who were carrying matchlocks, would struggle to keep their powder dry and matches lit. They'd have to fight with swords, which was one less problem to deal with.
Vassos took a few puffs of his pipe, struggling to enjoy the taste of the tobacco from where he was seated on the tail board of the cart. He glanced across to where Andronika was huddled in the rain, a little distance from the other prisoners. He assumed she'd palmed the key off to someone else, but he didn't know who. Hopefully they would act sensibly, pick off the nearest guards, grab a weapon and come to his assistance, though he knew better than to rely on that. He might need to do this all himself, in which case he probably wouldn't survive. For a moment he wondered why he was doing this - the Owned Men lived reasonably good lives. Yes, they were technically the property of the Emperor, but even that afforded them a degree of prestige... but it wasn't the life he was born into. The Elgafolk weren't his people. As much as she didn't want the others to know, Andronika was a Princess of the Realm. Of his realm. Currently nonexistent, but not forgotten. His true duty was too his own people.
The damp tobacco smoked altogether too much and set Vassos into a fit of coughing. He looked up at the prisoners again. They weren't being watched all that closely and he had given them enough time to get themselves together. With another hacking cough he tapped the pipe out on his boot, sending a shard of embers floating down into the mud. They would have seen that. Unless they were fools.
His boots squelched as he stepped over to the place where the other Owned Men were huddled around a campfire, leaving the watching of the prisoners to the other two guards. He drew his pistol quietly, "Captain!" he called.
The man turned to face him, eyes gleaming from under the brim of his broad hat.
Vassos shot him through the face before he had a chance to react. As the noise of the gunshot echoed through the name the small camp erupted in chaos, but he could only focus on what was directly in front of him. He dropped his pistol, reaching for his second. But someone else shot first. There was a flash of fire and Vassos felt the blow hit him in the flank, staggering him, causing him to fumble his grip on his second pistol, dropping it into the mud. There was pain, but he wasn't down. His breastplate dented but unbroken. He growled, a low animal noise of pure rage flinging himself across the campfire at the man who had shot him...
He hoped like hell that at least some of the prisoners were going to help out.
